


Like stars in the summer night

by Dark_Violet



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst, Bottom Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama & Romance, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, First Time, Fluff, Getting Together, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Not Beta Read, Period-Typical Racism, Slow Burn, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Top Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, mention of slavery, not between the main pairing tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:42:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 54,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25975384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Violet/pseuds/Dark_Violet
Summary: Yes, another getting together story. In which Nicolò wants to go home but needs a guide, and Yusuf doesn't want to be alone, therefore accepts to accompany him. They still hate everything about eachother, though, and being together sometimes just brings out the worst of them both.Also, the journey is long and dangerous and it's safer if Nicolò pretends to be Yusuf's prisoner. Or maybe not?
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 467
Kudos: 899





	1. Where it all begins

The night was slowly falling on the battlefield, another terrible day of death and violence was about to end. Nicolò fell to his knees, driving his sword into the blood-soaked ground and leaning on it, exhausted under the weight of his armor, of fatigue, of fear. And of a conscience that just couldn't give him some rest.

He'd reached the Holy Land two years earlier, with the only purpose of serving God. The Muslims had stolen Jerusalem from Christianity, had invaded the Middle East and half of Europe, sacking, plundering, sowing terror and hunting down pilgrims. It was only fitting that God's army took back what was already His.

Despite this certainty, acquired without a shadow of a doubt thanks to the words of high prelates, kings, emperors and even the Pope himself, the real war, the one fought day by day, was increasingly losing its meaning, making Nicolò feel more an executioner than a servant of God.

When he found the strength to raise his head and look around there was nobody in sight. His comrades were dead, possibly, or captured, or simply back to their camp, Nicolò no longer knew and didn't particularly care. The immense expanse of corpses, dead soldiers of both sides made him feel detached, alone, like a fish out of water. His arms ached, his legs couldn't hold him, and he tasted dust and blood in his mouth. He briefly considered that he should have been dead as well, he had been badly injured that same afternoon, after all. He clearly remembered the excruciating pain, his vision blurring, and then the fear, the regret and a pair of dark eyes, fierce and terrified at the same time: the eyes of a man like him, his assailant.

He'd never forget that look.

Before passing out Nicolò had at least managed to take a knife out of his boot and stick it in the other man's arm. He'd hit blindly, but he'd hit an artery, judging by the absurd amount of blood, condemning the other man to bleed to death. Such a way to say goodbye to the world, for a man of God, such a meager consolation.

Later, Nicolò found out he'd survived, after all, evidently his armor had protected him, and perhaps the wound had not been so deep, just very painful. Covered in blood as he was, and with the battle still raging, he hadn't had time to stop and think, neither the presence of mind to check if the corpse of his enemy was somewhere nearby. He'd just kept on fighting, and fighting some more, but now there was nothing but silence and death, so he took off his breastplate and looked under his chain mail and tunic. There was nothing at all, it didn't even hurt and it surely didn't make any sense: Nicolò was so astonished that he didn't notice that someone was coming up behind him until he felt a strong hand grabbing a fistful of his long hair in a painful grip to force him to tilt his head back. And maybe it was the unnatural position, maybe it was the fear, or the tiredness, but Nicolò was sure that the man who was now looking at him with unprecedented ferocity, growling words in a language he couldn't understand, was the same one he'd killed that afternoon.

How could Nicolò forget those deep, dark eyes, after all? He didn't have time to say or do anything, however, because the man cut his throat clean.

Later, Nicolò woke up yet again, it was late at night and he was completely terrified. There was something going on, or he was going crazy. This time he wasted no time, got up quickly, and found his way back to his camp. There was no comfort for him there, though, only the news of the deaths of friends and comrades, and no one in the world to whom he could confide his turmoil. He prayed, then, but God gave him answers he was unable to understand.

Nicolò had never felt more alone in his life.

In the days that followed he feared and hoped to meet that mysterious man once again, when it didn't happen, for the first time, Nicolò felt relieved. Maybe it'd been just a nightmare, a hallucination caused by blood loss, and it was much, much better to look at it like that, even though at the end of the day, there weren't wounds on his body. Never. Not even once, and people was starting to notice.

That brief and superficial relief lasted just a few days anyway, because soon Nicolò found himself crossing blades with that same man once again. Was it a coincidence, or had the man been looking for him? It was almost as if an occult force attracted them to each other, which wasn't reassuring at all.

They fought for a long time, that day, their strength was almost equivalent. It was a fight that theoretically could have gone on indefinitely, without anyone prevailing over the other, since their wounds never remained open for long. This soon led them both to despair, and to fight like two beasts, without finesse, without technique, driven only by the strength of their misery.

When the battle led them into a burning deposit, Nicolò purposely took off his helmet and showed his aventail off his head. He had to understand, he had to know, he wanted to see the other man, and be seen in turn. The Muslim did the same, and Nicolò could see in his eyes the same mix of amazement, disbelief and terror he felt in his own heart. For a moment the two warriors found themselves in a bubble where only the mystery of their immortality existed, to the detriment of the world that was literally burning around them.

After that brief pause that hadn't really led to anything, they started to fight once again, both determined to end the other's life hoping against hope that this could somehow restore the natural order of things, and put an end to that nightmare. Suddenly, in the chaos of that fiery hell, a beam creaked and fell and Nicolò instinctively pulled the other man away. Completely shocked that his enemy had just saved him, unable to react, the man let himself be dragged, but as soon as they were out of the burning building, the Frank turned swiftly like a snake, plunged a long knife into his belly and twisted his wrist.

Yusuf fell to his knees, eyes wide open, then slumped on his side and lay on the ground, unable to move or speak, waiting to die while the Christian stared at him coldly, with pursed lips and the knife still in his hand.

Some time later, he could not have said how long, Yusuf woke up with a violent jolt. Just like the other times. This time, though, there was another man sitting on a rock nearby, looking at him with a mixture of interest, disgust, curiosity and mistrust, like a scholar examining a particularly nasty specimen. That look, if possible, irritated Yusuf even more than the fact that he'd been killed.

Had the Frank really sat there just to watch him die and resurrect? It was creepy, to say the least, as if the whole not being able to stay dead thing wasn't already disconcerting enough on its own. It also made Yusuf feel violated, somehow. He already knew the Infidel belonged to a race of inhuman and perverse scum, but not to that point.

He got up, then, picked up his scimitar and approached the other without any hesitation. The Christian just kept staring, but besides slightly lifting his chin he didn't move a muscle. Yusuf raised the scimitar until its sharp tip was right in front of the other man's face, only a few inches away, but still the man refused to move or speak. Yusuf could vaguely guess his thoughts, but he didn't like being the object of that searching gaze.

In any case, he decided, if the guy truly wanted to study their case he could surely help him. With a small, quick flick of his wrist he slashed Nicolò's face. This at least provoked a reaction, the man startled, tried to get up, but Yusuf was faster, he basically fell on him forcing him to stay where he was, then grabbed a handful of his hair and forced him to turn his face to better see the wound.

The man said something then, Yusuf didn't understand a world but from the tone of his voice he could tell he'd just been insulted. He didn't care, focused as he was on the terrible and fascinating sight of a deep wound healing itself so fast and flawlessly. He let go of the scimitar and used the sash from his waist to wipe away the blood, certainly not trying to be kind, but to make sure the cut was completely gone. And so it was, the other man's skin was white again, perfectly smooth and intact.

Yusuf had seen the same happen to his own body more than once, and yet it continued to be fascinating. In fact, as if he still couldn't believe his own eyes, Yusuf brushed the Christian's cheek with his thumb, and that strange caress seemed to rouse something into the man. Nicolò suppressed a cold shiver, pushed Yusuf away, and was finally able to stand.

He didn't do much more than that, though, instead he looked around himself without really knowing what he was looking for. Behind them there was only death and destruction, on the horizon Jerusalem's walls bathed in the orange light of yet another sunset. He'd wanted to reach the Holy City so badly, to regain it for the Pope and for God, it'd been almost a romantic dream, but now, after two years of war, violence, forced marches, and after Antioch, especially after Antioch, Nicolò knew that there was nothing romantic at all in a war. Furthermore, the European nobles were uncoordinated, disorganized, God only knew how long it would take to get Jerusalem back, with that premise; besides their soldiers, while defending the Faith with one hand, with the other plundered, pillaged and raped. Nicolò was no longer sure he wanted to be one of them.

He finally made up his mind, he'd been thinking about it for some time, and now he was sure. There was nothing left for him there, so he sheathed his sword, and signalled Yusuf to follow.

By now, Yusuf had already reached the conclusion that Nicolò wasn't completely right in the head, a condition that was probably common among his people. He still followed him, although he really had no reason to.

Except one. Yusuf was scared too. If that made him pathetic he really didn't care. Not that the weird Christian had to know that, of course.

Nicolò's march stopped only when they were far enough from the battle, where not even the distant echoes of the cries of men slaughtering each other could reach them.

At least the silence was a small blessing, it made it easier to think clearly. He then grabbed his enemy, threw him against the wall of the only remaining building, a farm from which the owners had fled in a hurry, abandoning their only horse and cow, and began to bombard him with questions. Yusuf, of course, didn't understand a single word, and after the first moment of confusion he pushed Nicolò away, growling words that he, in turn, couldn't understand.

In the end the two men could only glare at each other. Talking was impossible, and killing a man who wouldn't stay dead was disturbing as it was useless, but neither of them wanted to go back. They simply didn't belong anymore, but if there were some place in the world where they actually did, it was still to be seen.

It seemed that they were stalled, until Nicolò mentally slapped himself. Of course his own language was useless, but there was another one which was well known all long the Mediterranean coast. Even savages like the one he had there had to know it.

“Can you speak Greek?” He tried.

“Of course” Yusuf answered, a bit relieved but still wary. He didn't really feel like talking to that guy, but now at least he'd know what he wanted from him, or at the very least, they'd be able to insult each other more effectively.

"I am Nicolò di Genova," the other simply said. Now they had a common language, and yet he couldn't find anything better to say.

“Yusuf Al-Kaysani” replied the other man. "You...? What are you?" He added as if talking to Nicolò costed him.

Nicolò didn't have any answers, if Yusuf was asking why he couldn't die, he just had to disappoint him. "I don't know," he admitted candidly. "And you? How did you do it?

"I haven't done anything!" Yusuf promptly answered, almost insulted at the idea that the Genoan believed him capable of such dark spells. He still hadn't fully accepted the idea of not being able to die, he didn't even know if it was a blessing or a curse. It was an incredible advantage in battle, and yet it was scary, it wasn't natural and Yusuf couldn't understand why had it happened to him. And to a Christian, of all people. Anyway, since he didn't have a solution to that terrible riddle, he cut it short. "I've got to go," he said. One of the few remaining certainties was that in any case he couldn't trust a Frank.

"Will you go back to your camp?" Nicolò asked then, earning a vaguely suspicious look.

"No," Yusuf replied, not knowing where the need to be so honest came from. He stopped in time, however, he'd have thrown himself off a cliff rather than open his heart to an enemy, and tell him that he was tired of all that blood, of all that death, and that he now felt like a stranger among his own people.

"Then you are a deserter," stated the other.

“Your point?”

"So am I."

“I don’t care.”

“You should. If we travel together maybe we'll move faster, maybe we'll find an explanation for... everything. Some information, at least.”

Leaving aside the complete repulsion that the idea of going anywhere with that man caused him, Yusuf immediately noticed something else and the shadow of a smile appeared on his face. With his arms folded, taking advantage of the few inches he'd on the other man to at least get the satisfaction of looking down on him, Yusuf got closer, almost invading Nicolò's personal space. "Or maybe you have no idea where to go, and you need a local guide," he stated.

Nicolò had the decency to seem vaguely embarrassed. Sadly, it was true and this only aggravated him more. "I know where to go. I want to reach the sea and go home. I certainly have a better chance of finding answers there, than anywhere in this barbaric land."

That last retort obviously didn't predispose Yusuf to collaboration, but it was too late to take it back.

“The sea is just a stone's throw away” the Muslim said coldly. “Your army traveled along the coast, right? Surely even you'd know how to find your way to the nearest port." He finished without hiding a good dose of contempt.

Nicolò overlooked both the tone and the veiled insult. "Yes," he said with a condescending sigh, "Godfrey is a stone's throw away too, and surely even you'd understand why I can't go back through the same route while deserting."

"What would the plan be, then?" Yusuf asked, now genuinely intrigued.

“Going back to Antioch through the inland. There are several ports in the area, merchant ships and God only knows how many mercenaries. It will be much easier..."

"No, wait," Yusuf interrupted, now more sure the ever that he was dealing with a lunatic. "Do you really plan to travel miles and miles through the mountains and the desert?"

"Do you have a better idea?"

“No, because it's not my problem. If you had stayed at home none of this would have happened."

"But it is your problem," said Nicolò, crossing his arms too, and raising his chin in a defiant expression.

"Really?"

"Really. You are a deserter too, to begin with, you can't go back the same way you came either.”

“It's none of your business.”

"Fair enough," Nicolò conceded. “You still can't simply go home. The way I see it you just have just two choices: wasting time wandering endlessly and aimlessly through these lands or come with me. And I swear that I'll share any knowledge I may be able to acquire about... whatever happened to us."

Yusuf didn't trust that oath in the least, and neither did he believe that an uneducated people like the Christian one could possess or acquire any kind of useful knowledge about anything. However Nicolò wasn't completely wrong, Yusuf didn't really have a choice, he couldn't go back home as a deserter, dishonor his family, and what for? Leaving them soon after so as not to be forced to stay and watch them grow old and die? Wandering endlessly, forever alone, was not an attractive prospect either. Should he really make do with the cold comfort of the company of the only being in the world who was like him?

And how much comfort could he really get from an insufferable, know-it-all infidel? Speaking of which, the arrogance with which Nicolò had just spoken to him, the claim to tell him what to do with his life, didn't sit well with Yusuf. The guy had to learn a bit of humility, to begin with, then he needed to understand that Yousuf would not simply obey his requests.

"Excellent speech, Nicolò di Genova,” he said then. “But you've just forgotten a small detail," he added seriously.

“Which one?” The Genoan asked with a frown.

"Something that surely must be customary even among an uncivilized lot like your own, a little salutation that polite people use when asking for a favor."

A calm fury lit up in Nicolò's big, clear eyes which immediately made Yusuf understand that the blow had hit the mark. The satisfaction he felt was enormous.

"Please," Nicolò said through gritted teeth, determined at least to get it over with quickly.

"Please what?" Yusuf insisted, even though he knew very well that it was only a childish game. Yet a war offered so little opportunities for harmless fun, it was better to take advantage of the rare occasions when they presented themselves.

"Please, could you kindly show me the way to Antioch," Nicolò said more furious by the second, spelling out the syllables as if he were talking to a slow child.

Yusuf huffed a laugh. Surely even Nicolò could do better, but sometimes one had to make do. "That way, then to the left" Yusuf said pointing to the mountains in a purposefully vague gesture. That said, he simply walked away with a blatant salute, mounted the only remaining horse and galloped away in the night, wishing Nicolò a safe journey on the remaining cow.

Nicolò froze on the spot and watched the Muslim riding in the sunset for a few long instants. He'd known that man for a very short time and he already found him completely detestable, it was a real shame that he couldn't kill him permanently, besides he really wanted to go home and unfortunately he needed Yusuf's help to do so. Nicolò sighed, armed his crossbow, aimed at the horse and hit it with outstanding precision. The poor animal fell to the ground causing its rider to fall ruinously as well.

It was a small, tiny moment of glory that compensated Nicolò for having just humiliated himself unnecessarily. It still wasn't enough, though, he needed to make Yusuf _understand_. He started in the other man's direction but didn't have to actually reach him because Yusuf had apparently lost any will to play and was now livid.

Nicolò, knowing all too well where it was going, threw the crossbow away an instant before Yusuf trampled him, causing him to fall quite painfully on his back. The man didn't even take out his scimitar, he knew by now it'd be useless, and maybe hitting that insufferable idiot who had just killed the only horse in sight with his own bare hands was going to be even better.

At the beginning Nicolò had no choice but to let his enemy vent, it was necessary for at least one of them to keep a cool head and obviously Yusuf wasn't a good candidate for the role. However, the man was strong, wasn't pulling his punches at all, and his blows really hurt, so finally Nicolò reacted. He blocked a jab with his right hand, struck with his left and with a powerful push reversed their positions while managing to block Yusuf's hands above his head.  
"I saved your life," Nicolò hissed, referring to the incident in the burning tower. It wasn't his habit to point out a gesture of kindness, but in that case...

Yusuf scoffed, trying to free his hands, but he was tired and the Frank was apparently quite strong. "You saved the life of a man who can't die, truly an admirable achievement," he hissed back.

"I still saved you a lot of pain, you ungrateful bastard," Nicolò replied immediately. Despite his good intentions his patience was running short as well.

His words at least had some effect, Yusuf stopped struggling and for the first time gave the Christian a look that wasn't entirely hostile, although it remained indecipherable. Maybe, Yusuf thought, just maybe Nicolò had a point. Burning alive, while death itself couldn't stop the agony was the most terrible torture. 

"Move," Yusuf said finally.

Not at all convinced that it was a good idea, Nicolò still got up, they were too close for his liking, and sitting on the other man would become awkward pretty soon anyway. 

Yusuf got up dusting his clothes. "We will reach Antioch,” he said finally making up his mind, the time for playing around was definitely over. “You'll board the first available ship and you'll never come back again, or I'll give you to somebody who can surely teach you the true meaning of pain."

Nicolò nodded, he didn't like Yusuf's threat, his tone or even his face, for that matter, but what could he do? “Deal,” he said, and didn't hold out his hand to Yusuf, who wouldn't have shaken it anyway. Nicolò only hoped it wasn't a trap, Yusuf had just reminded him that immortality, while certainly useful in a battle, could easily become a curse, for example when you ended up prisoners of uncivilized beasts like the Muslims. He was more than certain that they knew many ways to inflict pain and that they'd have a lot of fun experimenting new ones on somebody who couldn't die. Still, there was something about Yusuf that made Nicolò trust his words. The man wasn't a liar, Nicolò knew it by instinct, and if he'd said he would take him to Antioch, then he would.

They started their journey then, even though night was rapidly falling on themthey had noo food and they were so tired they could barely stand. 

"Anyway it's min fadlak" Yusuf said after a while.

“What?”

"Min fadlak, it means please. Start learning Arab, you'll need it."

Nicolò just nodded. They had been traveling for fifteen minutes or less, and he was already fed up with his guide. The fact that Yusuf was perfectly right, he truly needed to learn Arab, only made things worse. 

Nicolò started counting the days until a beautiful, huge, fast Genoese ships would take him home. It was going to be a long journey.


	2. Best enemies

The first few days of the journey were slow and tiring. Both Yusuf and Nicolò were extremely tired and wary, and tried to speak only the bare minimum because they didn't even have the strength to get on each other's nerves.

Water became an obsession soon enough, along with food and possibly even a couple of horses that would have greatly sped up their journey. The road was full of sentries from one side or the other, which forced them to move frustratingly slowly, often at night, and to remain mostly hidden.

Despite this, they were often forced to fight. The farther they went inland, the more the sentries gave way to bandits, raiders, thieves and attackers of any kind. In those circumstances they did nothing but get in each other's way, and if they always managed to win it was only because they were two well-trained soldiers against simple people who barely knew what they were doing.

The only progress, after the first three weeks on the road, was that they'd stopped considering each other the cause of every evil of the world, mostly because the late spring was hot, the water scarce, and the bickering exhausting. This didn't mean that mutual trust had increased, or that they stopped glaring whenever the situation called for it, that was exactly how Yusuf got the confirmation of what he had already noticed before. The Frank had the most incredible eyes he had ever seen. Of course, he chased that thought away immediately with no particular efforts because although Nicolò was of few words, in most cases when he spoke he still managed to be irritating.

At that point, Yusuf wasn't even sure Nicolò wasn't doing it on purpose, all the more reason to despise him. Unfortunately, however, his honor prevented him from leaving the other man in the middle of nowhere and going his way. It didn't help, of course, that Yusuf at the moment didn't even know where his own way would lead, if he had one. He still hadn't decided what to with his life after the Genoan's departure. The thought was quite disheartening, Yusuf had begun to accept his immortality as a gift, but at the same time he was struggling to accept that he had lost everything else. His loved ones, his home, and whatever had made his life worth living was now lost, and he'd never get it back.

He tried not to think about it because it hurt, but having to share that moment with a sworn enemy only added insult to injury.

The journey improved at least a little when they arrived at a small camp, or rather what remained of it, and finally managed to get two horses. Considering that they were still miles away from their destination, those horses were a real stroke of luck. However, it wasn't a very happy circumstance because all the men in the camp had been massacred and lay dead on the ground, in the dark pools of their dried blood, devoured by flies. Yusuf recognized the region they came from, from their clothes. He'd done good business in those lands, and although he didn't know those men personally, he couldn't help but feel sorry for them.

"Here's what your war has brought, only death and destruction," he said bitterly, as his hand automatically went to the hilt of the scimitar. Unconsciously he was almost hoping for a wrong word from Nicolò, something that would give him a pretext, if not to kill him, at least to take out his anger and frustration on him.

Nicolò's words, however, weren't what Yusuf was expecting. "The war has not come this far and you know it,” he said as a matter of fact, “but I'm sorry for these poor men." It wasn't even the words themselves, it was the tone of Nicolò's voice. So sincere, so devoid of any hostility or attempt of teasing, that Yusuf didn't know what to do with them, but he let his arm fall to his side again and the conversation ended there. After all it was probably true, surely that camp had been attacked by outlaws, the Christian armies had no reason to go that far.

That moment also marked the entrance to what was in a way some sort of no-man's land. The two travelers found themselves forced to fight more and more often, and even if that slowed down their journey a lot, at least it was a good exercise, useful to let off steam. They soon began to cooperate, to stop hindering each other, and sometimes they even watched each other's backs.

Of course accidents still happened, now and then, so it was that just before entering the first, real village they found on their way, Yusuf found himself reaching the end of yet another battle with an arrow stuck between his ribs. He's left most of his armor behind, just like Nicolò, because it was too hot and heavy under the unforgiving sun of the incoming summer, and he already had to regret his choice somehow.

"Wait," he said collapsing against a large rock, while Nicolò was already about to mount his horse. Only then did the Christian realize that the other man was bleeding, and although he knew that no wound would kill him, that one still looked painful, and it would have been even more so when Yusuf's body tried to eject the arrow stuck between his ribs.

Nicolò approached him almost cautiously, as if Yusuf were a wounded animal ready to attack. The last thing the man wanted, instead, was to move. “Give me a minute,” he said gritting his teeth in pain and grabbing the arrow, ready to pull it out by himself.

"Wait!" Nicolò said stopping his hand. To his questioning look then, he added, "don't move."

"Uh?" That was all Yusuf had to say, but the Genoan didn't answer, instead he hurried back to his horse where he stirred up the few things he had put together on the way, only to return with a small bundle of cloth. Kneeling next to Yusuf he opened it, took out some leaves and put them in his mouth. He chewed them without swallowing, as he lifted the other man's tunic as if he was used to undressing him, leaving Yusuf almost unable to breathe, let alone speak. He was doubly astonished, he had no idea what Nicolò was planning to do, to begin with, and besides more than once he'd noticed how little Nicolò seemed to appreciate physical contact, of whatever nature it was. The man put so much distance between them, at night, that it was a miracle if the heat of the fire they lit to protect themselves from the cold of the night, reached him. Yusuf had even got close to be vaguely offended, a couple of times, now, however, the same man was so close that Yusuf could feel his warm breath on his own skin. It was a new, foreign sensation. Not unpleasant, but certainly weird.

Rationally, he knew he shouldn't trust Nicolò, and yet nothing in the man's attitude suggested that he was plotting something, and there was also something else, well hidden in a corner of Yusuf's mind. For the very first time in a long while somebody was touching him with kindness, and the fact that that somebody was Nicolò, were stirring something inside his mind that was much better to keep hidden. Distracting Yusuf from his thoughts before he could investigate them too deeply, however, Nicolò took the green pulp from his mouth and spread it on the wound, around the arrow. "Give it a few moments," he said then, finally stepping back to sit on his heels.

Yusuf found himself once again mesmerized by his enemy's eyes. They had an incredible color, which he could not remember ever seeing anywhere else, except perhaps in a reflection caught by chance on a splash of water, or on a precious gem. Feeling observed, the Christian promptly looked away. Yusuf was about to tease him for his shyness, rather unexpected considering that in battle, instead, Nicolò was almost too brazen, but the truth was that he too felt somewhat uncomfortable, so in the end he didn't find anything to say. The need to fill that awkward silence, however, was still there. "What are those?" Yusuf finally asked, referring to the leaves.

Almost relieved by that neutral question, Nicolò answered. "Healing herbs, there's plenty growing around here, among the brambles," he replied as if it were obvious. "It's a great anesthetic, and an even better poison, if you know how to dose it."

"I think that trying to poison me would be redundant, right?"

"Maybe one of these days I'll give it a try, you never know." Nicolò spoke in all seriousness, but Yusuf still noticed an ironic glint in his eyes and for the very first time the two men came very close to laughing together.

"Why?” Yusuf asked instead, genuinely curious. “Our wounds heal themselves, we both know that.”

"No more pain," Nicolò replied promptly, and for Yusuf those three simple words felt like a warm blanket at night, but before he could say anything in response the Genoan grabbed the arrow and looked him straight in the eyes. “Ready?”

Yusuf nodded, ready or not, that arrow had to go. He put his hand on Nicolò's one, they twisted and pulled, and the arrow was gone. The pain was far less intense than Yusuf had feared.

That day, as they went on their path riding slowly, almost lazily, for the first time they actually talked. Almost amicably, or at least normally, as two ordinary fellow travelers who made small talk to pass the time. At least for a while.

"You were a healer, then? Back home?" Yusuf asked at some point.

Nicolò shook his head. "I was a priest, I still am."

"A man of God?"

"If you like."

"Does your God love herbs?"

Nicolò allowed himself a short laugh. “I guess He does, Father Gregorio surely did.”

“Who is Father Gregorio?”

“He was one of my teachers at the convent where I grew up, and a very experienced herbalist, I learned a lot from him," Nicolò said and Yusuf could see that he remembered his teacher, or perhaps the convent, fondly. Nicolò really wanted to go home and after all Yousuf couldn't blame him.

“So this is what you do when you are not busy bringing the war to other countries? You pray and study herbs?" Yusuf was so used to tease the other man, by now, that those words were out of his mouth before he could stop himslef, but this time he regretted them. He still held the Genoan and all his people responsible for many misfortunes, but Nicolò was also the man who had helped him, twice, saving him from the burning beam and extracting his arrow, for no good reason other than wanting to spare him an unnecessary suffering. It wasn't the first time Yusuf had to admit that maybe there was some good in him. Before he could try to fix his own mistake, however, Nicolò spoke.

He was clearly not happy, it was also evident how much he wanted to avoid yet another fight. "Your people ravaged my city." He said trying to keep his tone neutral, as if he was speking about the weather. Anger was an exhausting feeling, and he'd had already as much as he could take.

"What are you talking about?" Yusuf asked suspiciously.

Go figure, Nicolò thought, it didn't take much to see that Yusuf was neither ignorant nor stupid, he just doubted that Muslim kids were taught the history of random foreign cities. "Year of our Lord 936, the Arabs plundered Genoa, sold its people as slaves."

"I don't..."

"I don't think you're in the position of giving me moral lessons." Nicolò said grabbing the reins nervously, and it was final. It had been an almost passable day until then, he didn't want to ruin it, but he was tired of being judged, tired in general.

"It wasn't my intention." Yusuf said dryly, still trying to do his part. Nicolò had done his best to avoid an escalation, to actually talk, he didn't want to be outdone.

“Very well, then,” was the only answer he got, and the conversation ended there, but left Yusuf with a bitter taste in his mouth. Could he really believe the words of an infidel? Anyway that wasn't even the point. The real point was that deep, deep down, he didn't mind Nicolò's company too much; when still among his comrades, Yusuf had had to hide what he had become; how to talk to somebody else about something he didn't even understand? There wasn't even a name for what he was now, 'immortal' was too little and too much at the same time, so he'd ended up finding a thousand excuses for the wounds that kept healing on their own, he'd kept himself hidden, far from everybody else, basically living in the cage of his own lies, and he'd hated every minute of it. Ridiculous to think that the only person with whom he could be himself was his sworn enemy, and yet so it was. Perhaps, he eventually thought, he should've apologized, but he soon gave up the idea, and after all Nicolò no longer seemed very inclined to talk.

Silent as he was, Nicolò wasn't actively trying to avoid conversation, but he was so deep in thoughts that he almost forgot the world around himself, including his reluctant guide. Did it really make sense, at that point, to talk about those things? To go back, over the years, over the centuries, to the dawn of time? He was more than certain that it wouldn't have helped him find out which people was better, holier, or worse, more entitled to wedge war against the others. Nicolò was starting to understand and accept that nobody was just inherently good, not even Christians. Or bad, not even Muslims.

He was even sort of regretting the way he'd answered Yusuf's last provocation, but the dark haired man's words, while once would have made him mad, now hurt. He just hoped he hadn't damaged whatever fragile truce was between them. Fighting together, side by side had made them formidable, and had been even fun at times. It had taken Nicolò days to admit it to himself, and he was sure that Yusuf was of the same opinion even if too proud and stubborn to admit it.

The next chance for _fun_ came shortly after, when they entered the village with the intention of buying something useful for their journey, eating something other than some meager bird with too little meat caught by chance, and maybe even sleeping in a real bed. Instead, it turned out that a Christian and a Muslim traveling together aroused a good deal of attention, suspicion, and ultimately hostility, which turned into bloody violence soon enough.

They had to leave the village in a hurry, soon after entering the local market, leaving a real carnage behind. That evening they set up camp in the ruins of an old country house and remained mostly silent.

That incident, however, had made Nicolò open his eyes to something that he'd actually already suspected for some time. Such occurrences could be resolved in a skirmish as long as they were fighting against vagabonds or thieves in the middle of nowhere. In a city, or even in a village, the risk was different and somewhat higher. They couldn't slaughter anyone who got in their way, much less an entire village, and then leave orphans and widows behind. Assuming that they'd had, alone, the strength to face an angry crowd. Nicolò didn't want to find out, he didn't take pleasure in killing people, especially outside the battlefield, and by now he knew that the same was also true for Yusuf.

It was evident, because that episode had brought their relationship back almost to the starting point. Yusuf felt terribly guilty and even knowing it was unfair he couldn't help but harbor some resentment towards Nicolò. Had he never met him, had he not promised to accompany him, had Nicolò not been who he was, a foreigner, an invader, an infidel, Yusuf wouldn't have had to dirty his hands with the blood of other Muslims.

He never said those things out loud but still Nicolò knew, on some level. All the dead people at the village were just another burden added to his conscience. He vaguely considered to release Yusuf from his promise, he could still find the road to Antioch by himself, one way or another, but for some reason having Yusuf's trust and esteem was becoming a priority almost as big as returning to Genoa.

It was irrational, it was probably also dangerous, but Nicolò couldn't help himself. Especially when, shortly after, everything went even worse.

Two weeks had passed since their last misadventure, when they were attacked in broad daylight by a band of desert riders. They were crossing a gorge dug in the mountains, their guard guilty lowered, and they were taken completely by surprise. Out of the blue the two found themselves surrounded by a small group of men with covered faces. Nicolò and Yusuf exchanged a knowing glance, then, without needing to speak. They could fight, it was going to be an easy win.

However, the bandits didn't take much to notice Nicolò's features and became particularly aggressive. Nicolò was forced to defend himself with equal strength, and Yusuf who, despite everything, had developed a sort of inexplicable loyalty to him, rushed to his aid.

They found themselves fighting back to back, sure that they didn't have to watch their own backs because their best enemy would do it for them. It went as expected, they were outnumbered, but their skills were clearly superior. Then it all happened in an instant.

Just before falling to the ground, stabbed to death, Nicolò's last opponent shouted a name "Karim!" as Yusuf too killed his last enemy. The man fell to the ground as well, but before dying he said "baba" with his last breath and his eyes turned to the man just killed by Nicolò.

Yusuf then stood frozen to the spot. "No," he muttered between his teeth, shaking his head, while a horrible presentiment grew in his heart. "Please, no," he said once again, kneeling on the ground and baring his opponent's face with a shaking hand.

When he saw the bandit's face it was as if all the air had been sucked from his lungs. It was a small round face, with the features of a boy of no more than fifteen years. Yusuf had to swallow tears of anger and remorse then, while the blood in Nicolò's veins froze. Yusuf was strong, sturdy as an oak, brave, what could possibly have reduced him in that state?

He approached the kneeling man cautiously, unsure of what to expect, but when he too saw the boy's face, he immediately understood.

"Just a boy," Yusuf said, then, but he wasn't even talking to Nicolò, mostly he was talking to himself and to his conscience. "I killed a boy."

"Yusuf..." Nicolò tried, without really knowing what to say. There was something that always baffled him, whenever Yusuf showed his most kind side, so at odds with what he knew about Muslims. Loathing him and his people had long been a familiar feeling, much more reassuring and easier than admitting that he no longer had any real reason to do so, that there was so much more to Yusuf than some stupid prejudice. Beisdes, maybe Yusuf's scimitar had killed that boy, but if they had been attacked with such violence it was only because of Nicolò.

“We... We didn't have e choice,” the Genoan tried, but those words sounded empty and untrue even to his own ears.

"I killed boy, may Allah forgive me" Yusuf said once again, pale, with clenched fists, while anger, remorse, anguish grew stronger and stronger poisoning his heart and mind, leaving no room for anything else.

Without even realizing it, Nicolò put a hand on the kneeling man's shoulder in a gesture that was meant to be of comforting "it wasn't your fault," he also added, but despite all his good intentions, the effect he obtained was disastrous.

As if the touch of his hand had ignited something inside him, Yusuf rose to his feet, slapped his hand away with a brusque gesture and gave Nicolò a fiery look that went very close to be frightening. The last time Yusuf had looked at him like that it had been on the battlefield, just before slitting Nicolò's throat.

“It's my fault, though,” Yusuf growled. “It's my fault because I agreed to accompany you on this absurd journey, because I killed my people for a man who can't even die. You are a curse, Nicolò di Genova, you and all your people, I wish you'd never came here!"

With those words Yusuf unsheathed his scimitar and pointed it at Nicolò's heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And again, thank you for reading! Let me know what you think, and stay safe wherever you are <3


	3. Broken Souls

Nicolò's hand ran to the hilt of his longsword almost without him realizing it. He clutched it nervously, but didn't wield his weapon even if the sharp tip of Yusuf's scimitar was on his heart, and he could feel the unforgiving cold of the steel below the fabric of his tunic.

Yusuf, on the other hand, was perfectly still, with his arm raised, looking at Nicolò full of anger and contempt. It'd have taken very little, just a bit of extra pressure... but he didn't move, it was almost as if he couldn't decide if he could, had to, or even if wanted to do it.

"Fight!" He shouted instead, and that simple word made Nicolò realize that, despite everything, his life was still hanging by a very thin thread. A wrong move, perhaps even just a small twist of his hand, would lead him right into the icy embrace of death.

Nicolò wasn't afraid of dying, per se, not anymore. He knew by now that as scary or painful death may be, he'd eventually come back and keep on wandering through the mess that his life had become. In fact, _their_ lives, because whether they liked it or not, Nicolò and Yusuf were in it together.

Right now, however, Yusuf clearly wasn't willing to share anything with him, and Nicolò didn't know what to do. Every accusation, all that hatred, invariably infused so much anger and resentment within him that he was struggling to contain them, and yet he couldn't help but wonder if he should actually fight. Should he let Yusuf vent, maybe even kill him? Would it truly help him deal with the hatred he felt for himself, even more than Nicolò, or would it make things even worse?

Fighting could be the end of their journey, no matter who won. Nicolò had the feeling that their time was running out. They had come very close to a mutual understanding, which was very little, and at the same time was also something Nicolò deemed worth preserving. They couldn't go on like that forever, though, one step forward, one step back, with the sole result of being perpetually stuck, as if bogged down in quicksand, without sinking, but also unable to get out and reach a safe place.

They had to figure out how to coexist or just part ways.

"Fight!" Yusuf yelled once again, and Nicolò decided that he wanted to know once and for all who that man really was. Yusuf wore his heart on his sleeve, he always spoke his mind, he was possibly even too blunt for Nicolò's own liking, and yet he still was a mystery to him.

Deciding to put aside both his anger and pride for the moment, Nicolò let go the hilt of his sword, lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender and slowly shook his head. "I won't fight. Not now, not like this."

Yusuf wasn't sure what the other meant, exactly, with _not now and not like this_. He kept on staring suspiciously at the other man for a few long moments, and under his cold scrutiny Nicolò felt like a prisoner awaiting trial.

It was a few more instants before Yusuf seemed to lose his will to fight all at once. "Coward," he seethed, but he lowered his scimitar, then walked toward his horse without sparing Nicolò a second glance and purposely avoiding to look at the dead boy. When he rode away Nicolò exhaled the breath he didn't know he was holding, but he was also relieved to know that Yusuf wouldn't kill an unarmed man in cold blood.

He let him go, later he'd catch up to him easily enough, the path they were on was pretty much the only way through the gorge, and he was almost certain that once he blew off some steam, Yusuf would slow down and even wait for him. Right now he just needed to be left alone, and Nicolò could use some space as well.

At least he'd finally done one thing right, avoiding yet another pointless fight, but that small achievement was not enough to give him the peace he'd hoped for. Yusuf had called him a curse and a coward, and while the insults were like salt on a wound, the resentment in Yusuf's deep brown eyes burned hundred times over. Mostly because Yusuf was right. Even far from his army Nicolò only caused death and suffering. The boy who lay lifeless at his feet was proof enough of it. Just like all the dead people at the previous village.

Never as at that moment Nicolò had wanted to go home, even if 'home' was slowly becoming an utopy. He'd started that journey with the sole purpose of returning to Genoa, but over time he'd begun to realize that it was just a beautiful dream. Every time his wandering thoughts went to his small parish between the mountains and the sea, Nicolò had to swallow a lump in his throat because he was slowly realising that he'd never see it again. He couldn't just go back, not as a traitor and even less like a being endowed with a frightening supernatural power, but at least on Christian soil he'd stop bringing ruin. Hopefully.

This, at least, left his original plan intact; it was somehow comforting to sill have a goal despite everything, to have something to focus his efforts on, or even his thoughts, so that he could give his mind a bit of respite. He decided he'd to find a way to speed up the trip and minimize the chances of fighting with random people, but it was not easy at all and, at least for the moment, he couldn't even truly count on Yusuf's help.

Thinking about the other man, Nicolò decided it was time to go. As they often did in similar circumstances he quickly searched through the brigands' luggage hoping to find some food, or something else useful for the journey. He didn't find much, but when an unusual object came into his hands he had such a revelation that he wondered if he should interpret it as a message from God. Perhaps he'd already found out how to make the journey faster and safer. It was actually a very unorthodox, risky solution and he didn't like it at all, but he didn't have many options either. On the other hand, Yusuf probably would find his idea brilliant, which wasn't reassuring at all and Nicolò hoped with all his might that he wasn't about to dig his own grave, metaphorically speaking.

Before leaving, he kissed the small wooden cross hanging from his neck, murmured a prayer for all the dead people he was leaving behind, and finally galloped away. He went slower than he would have normally, even stopping now and then to collect more herbs, and by the time he finally reached Yusuf, a few hours had gone by.

He found the man sitting cross legged, with his back leaning against a large rock, scrawling something on what looked like a small book. It wasn't what Nicolò had expected, he hadn't even noticed that Yusuf had bought charcoal and paper at the last village. He was curious to see what he was drawing, but Yusuf welcomed him with a cold stare and although he didn't openly send Nicolò away, he made it clear that it wasn't a good time for small talk, much less for snooping.

Nicolò took the hint, sort of relieved at having at least an excuse to not tell Yusuf about his plan yet. He lit a fire as the sun was rapidly setting and went hunting nearby.

The following days went by uneventfully. Yusuf, who was generally the most talkative of the two, was silent most of the time, grateful that Nicolò, apart from the times it was strictly necessary, didn't attempt to engage in conversation. He wasn't even angry anymore, not really, but a veil of sadness had fallen on his heart, together with a feeling of helplessness, which took away from him the desire and energy to make conversation just to be polite. He could still tell that there was something on Nicolò's mind, probably he had something to say that wasn't just small talk, but Yusuf concluded it wasn't that important, or he'd have spoken already.

This gave him some time to think. He felt as if he couldn't be sure about anything anymore. To tell right from wrong had been easy enough, before. Now he didn't know what he wanted, didn't know what to do, he didn't even know if he truly hated Nicolò or not. His mind was often on the poor, dead boy. To be fair they'd been attacked, they had to defend themselves, yet guilt, remorse, the desperate will to repair a wrong and the impossibility of doing so, were nagging him to the point he couldn't judge objectively, and he knew it.

Eventually they reached another village. Despite the last experience Yusuf was somewhat relieved, they were always short on water, even the horses needed to eat and rest, and he longed for some distraction. He even dared to hope that this time they'd be left in peace.

That was also when Nicolò finally spoke. “Let's stop for a while,” he said not unkindly, dismounting from his horse.

“Why?” Yusuf asked, suspicious already, but he dismounted as well. They couldn't avoid truly talking to each other forever, but he never knew what was going to come out the other man's mouth, and since he usually didn't like whatever Nicolò came up with, he braced himself hoping it wasn't going to be something particularly ominous. Yusuf didn't suspect yet that he was doomed to his hugest disappointment so far.

Nicolò gave him a last unreadable look, then rummaged through his small luggage and before saying anything, threw something at Yusuf's feet.

Yusuf looked at that particular _something_ , then at Nicolò, with a frown and a fair amount of skepticism clearly written all over his face. "Shackles?" He asked, already afraid of the answer.

“Yes.”

Yusuf crossed his arms, defensive. “And what should I do with them?” He asked.

Nicolò took a deep sigh and Yusuf could tell he was nervous, which made him even more confused than before.

"You were right,” Nicolò said resolutely. “That boy, and everyone else before him, it was my fault."

Yusuf went perfectly still and looked at the other man seriously. He wasn't sure he wanted to address that subject, not at that moment, not with Nicolò, and perhaps not even with his own conscience. In fact, he wasn't even sure he wanted to talk to Nicolò about anything, ever, but he also knew it wasn't feasible.

Now that he could see the situation more clearly Yusuf admitted that maybe, just maybe, he'd been unfair to put all the blame on the other man, but he didn't feel ready to say it out loud yet. He still wanted to understand what was going on in the man's apparently deranged mind.

"What have the shackles got to do with it?" He asked again, with a resigned sigh.

Nicolò purposely hid behind a cold facade of indifference. "We'll have less trouble if people think I'm your prisoner," he said.

It was as if time had stopped. Yusuf looked at him in complete astonishment, hoping it was a sick joke, yet knowing Nicolò was completely serious. For a brief moment he even considered the possibility of a misunderstanding, language barriers and all, because Nicolò could possibly be right about avoiding trouble, but the idea of owning another man disgusted Yusuf like nothing else, even if the man was a Christian, and that one in particular.

"No," he said, unable to add anything else.

This time it was Nicolò's turn to be surprised, pleasantly, even. He had taken for granted that Yusuf would've been more than happy to accept his request, if nothing else to have a bit of fun at his expense. "Why?" He asked as if it wasn't obvious.

“Why? I don't… I just don't like the idea," Yusuf said, picking the shackles off the ground only to return them to Nicolò. The Genoan didn't take them, but he felt an annoying feeling blossoming into his heart, something that vaguely resembled gratitude, or even admiration.

He was an honorable man, that Yusuf, he really was, and for some reason this gave Nicolò hope. For what, exactly, he was hoping he didn't even know, but it surely strengthened his resolution. If something bad happened once again, if because of him Yusuf had to dirty his hands with innocent blood he'd never forgive himself. Nicolò knew it wasn't his place to take care of a Muslim's soul, still Yusuf had agreed to accompany him on a long and dangerous journey and he felt oddly responsible for him.

Nicolò then tried to be rational. "We can't avoid villages forever, and we can't afford to be caught, you know that," he said.

Yusuf shook his head. Undeniably, it made a lot of sense, but killing an enemy in a fight was one thing, some people even considered it heroic, that was why he'd not hesitated for a single moment to kill Nicolò on the battlefield. Dragging around a man in chains, however, was quite different; Yusuf knew that many people, far too many for his liking, possessed servants, but he found the thing vile and disgusting. Never, in his family, things had been done that way. It was slavery, despite all the euphemisms people used to silence their conscience.

Besides, was it really possible that the Genoan didn't realize how much power he was giving him? Either he was too cocky or he was a naive fool.

"We will fight as we have always done," Yusuf said then, dryly, slowly, although at the moment he didn't particularly like that idea either.

It wasn't nearly enough to deter Nicolò, though. "How many people live in that village?" He asked, now growing impatient. Still full of doubts as he was he couldn't allow Yusuf to make his confidence waver. "A few thousand, I suppose, do you want to kill them all?"

For some reason those words lit a fire inside Yusuf that he believed he'd extinguished already. He came a step closer, not caring if he was invading Nicolò's personal space. "Since when do you care? You've traveled miles, you've crossed the sea, just to slaughter Muslims, you should be happy."

Nicolò was not thrilled to know that Yusuf's option of him was so low, not that he could have expected anything different, and surely he didn't feel like explaining his own conscience to him. He also knew by now that the man could be adamant. Unless, of course, somebody forced his hand.

"It should matter to you," Nicolò said, "it's your people, but maybe you're just selfish," he finished with the precise intent of infuriating the other man since he just couldn't make him see reason.

Unsurprisingly, it worked.

"Shut up, you don't know me!" Yusuf said between clenched teeth.

For once, Nicolò thought, it wasn't a bad thing that he was so good at pushing Yusuf's buttons. He wasn't proud of himself, then again, he couldn't remember when was the last time he'd been proud of himself. What he could remember was that once he'd wanted Yusuf respect, but evidently it was a desire just as attainable as going back to Genoa. Since it was hard to believe that Yusuf's esteem for him would drop any further, Nicolò did what had to be done.

"I know for a fact that you are a hypocrite,” he went on, forcing himself to be as detached as possible. “You act all self-righteous, refusing to pretend to take prisoners, but you have no qualm to kill for real." Even before finishing uttering those words, Nicolò wished he could take them back.

He'd seen something in Yusuf's dark eyes, and he knew without doubt that he'd truly hurt him, this time. Yusuf was a passionate man, it didn't take much to trigger a reaction in him and to use his guilt to force him into an awful choice had been a low blow, and Nicolò knew it. It was too late for second-guessing anyway, he hoped that in the long run it'd at least help to spare lives as he'd planned, or else he'd have lost yet another piece of his soul for nothing.

For his part Yusuf felt like a complete idiot for even thinking it was possible not to hate the other man, not so much because of what Nicolò had just said, but because he'd recognized the intent to manipulate him. Yusuf had tried, for real, to swallow down any bad feeling, to stop blaming the Frank at every turn, to trust him at least a little despite who he was, and now Nicolò had to ruin his efforts. Using Yusuf's conscience for his own purposes had been an act of egoism and cruelty that he hadn't suspected Nicolò possessed.

Evidently the true naive fool was Yusuf, which ultimately made everything easier. It was much better to stop having expectations about people who would unfailingly disappoint them.

"If this is really what you want," Yusuf said with narrowed eyes, yanking Nicolò toward himself. The brief, fleeting flash of fear he saw in the clear eyes of the other man gave him a small, intense, sick satisfaction. Yusuf clutched the shackles around his _prisoner's_ wrists, made sure they were tight, not even bothering to ask where the key was, or to check they wouldn't bruise the skin. Nicolò would heal fast enough anyway.

He also studiously ignored the Christian's clenched jaw and fists. What was that, now? Anger? Wounded pride? Was he already regretting his choice? Yusuf surely hoped so. He didn't intend to abuse his position, but he didn't even feel like sparing Nicolò anything.

He mounted on horseback, then, the sun was high already and they needed to move. "Let's go," he said brusquely, and when Nicolò made his way to his horse as well, Yusuf stopped him with equal determination. "I don't know how you do this in your country, but here free men ride, prisoners walk. So walk."

Nicolò gave him a look that would've frozen a volcano, but he said nothing. At that Yusuf sneered in wicked enjoyment, the village was close enough, but maybe a short walk would do the Genoan some good.

Thinking bout lessons to be learned, Yusuf also added, "here's another useful word for you: sayidi. It means master. And remember, _my friend_ , whatever happens, you asked for it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit behind schedule, migraine gave me hell, and this chapter too ^^' Next one shoul come out sooner ;)


	4. Play the game

Along the dusty road that led to the village, Nicolò followed Yusuf in silence, letting anger fester into his heart. He knew he should've let go of that feeling before it destroyed them both, but it wasn't simple. Nicolò was really trying, but getting past Yusuf's sarcastic laugh, or the malicious enjoyment with which he'd ordered Nicolò to walk, was proving to be almost beyond his strength. Not only it was way too soon, but the way Yusuf had called him _friend_ , with his snarky tone and his cold smile, had only added insult to injury.

It still burned, actually, like a slap in the face. Nicolò couldn't help but wonder how that word, _friend_ , would have sounded, had Yusuf given it its true meaning. He hastened to chase away that silly fantasy, it was a silly and useless thought, and above anything else it was dangerous. To have such an expectation would just expose him to further disappointment, misjudgment, and possibly to pain. They were enemies, Yusuf and him, at best they could put up with each other for a while, if they were lucky, but often they couldn't even do that, so Nicolò ended up replacing hope with anger, and good intentions with hate.

It was wrong, but it helped to ignore all the fear and helplessness he'd felt when Yusuf had tightened the iron rings around his wrists. Nicolò had accepted the risks of his own crazy plan from the start, but the way Yusuf had looked at him had turned on all possible alarm bells in his brain. Yes, Yusuf was an honorable man, but also a dangerous enemy and Nicolò had to admit he'd done his best to anger him. Quite literally, Nicolò had asked for it, he knew he deserved everything, but if he stopped to think about all the things that could go wrong, cold coils of fear wrapped his heart, and he couldn't allow it. Fear was similar to panic, and panic meant the loss of what little control he still had.

The village was close, at least, and their stay went as they'd expect it to go. Inevitably they attracted attention, and that was pretty much it, which was a victory in itself.

_If this is really what you want_

Yusuf was now walking ahead of him, studiously turning his back on him, but his voice still echoed in Nicolò's mind. Indeed, what Nicolò wanted was a quiet stay, a chance to get supplies, and maybe even that Yusuf didn't act like a complete asshole all the time. So far it was going pretty well, despite some people who were quite happy to see a Crusader in chains, and made no secret of it.

The most brazen ones even stopped Yusuf to compliment him or ask him how he'd managed to capture such a specimen. Nicolò, for once, was more than happy to understand just a small part of what people said, the opportunities to learn Arabic from Yusuf had been few and far in between. He could still take an accurate guess of what was going on, though, so he decided to play it as safe as he could. He lowered his gaze and prayed God to give him the strength to not react whenever people got a little too close, or when they spit on him, or when he managed to catch some of the most unflattering comments. Any kind of comeback on his part risked ruining everything, and besides Nicolò still had a lot to ask God's forgiveness for, perhaps that little sacrifice would serve at least to atone for a small part of his sins.

However, as closed in himself as he was, Nicolò didn't realize that the game for Yusuf had stopped being fun very, very soon.

At first, exasperated and feeling sort of betrayed at being manipulated, Yusuf had thought to give the Genoan the little lesson he so obviously deserved. His anger was extinguished already, though, like a flash in the pan, leaving just frustration in its wake.

Throwing a glance at his back from time to time, as if driven by morbid curiosity, Yusuf could see that Nicolò bore everything quite stoically. With his hand tight around his small wooden cross, his eyes cast down, but his shoulders straight, Nicolò looked like he was deep in thought, rather than crushed by humiliation. There was no trace of the arrogance that so often Yusuf had accused him of possessing, though, thus it was that often, and almost without realizing it, Yusuf ended up putting himself between his _prisoner_ and anyone who got too close.

The day was long in any case, and both Yusuf and Nicolò spent it so focused on their own not really positive thoughts, that as evening approached, they found themselves exhausted, mentally much more than physically. Also, to be tied to each other like that soon started to feel suffocating for Yusuf as it was claustrophobic for Nicolò. At the end of the day they were so fed up that they were ready to slit each other's throat out on the street.

At some point Yusuf glimpsed his salvation in a large inn just outside the village.

“Wait here,” he said peremptorily, entering the inn and leaving Nicolò outside.

“Of course, sayidi,” Nicolò answered with the utmost sarcasm, so that Yusuf would know what he thought of his commanding tone.

Whatever residue of goodwill remained in Yusuf's soul was thus swept away. That word made him nauseous, and he knew that if he didn't get the other man out of his sight at least for a while, it'd end badly. A few minutes later Yusuf came out of the inn, grabbed Nicolò by the arm e led him toward the stable, not too kindly. “Looks like they only have one bed left, and I have no interest in sharing it with your fleas, sorry.”

“My fleas have no interest in sharing it with your crabs either,” Nicolò sneered defiantly, then, as if on a second thought, he added “liar.” If there was one good thing in that forced coexistence it was that he'd learned to tell when Yusuf was lying since very early in their journey.

Of course neither his comeback, nor his insult pleased Yusuf, who was now more determined than ever to get rid of his uncomfortable charge at least for that night. When they were on the stable's threshold he strengthened his grip on Nicolò's arm, hoping it'd hurt at least a little.

"People may get the wrong idea if they see a master sharing a bed with his servant," he whispered maliciously into the other man's ear. He was so close that his beard brushed Nicolò's skin, and made him shiver.

Nicolò tugged and tried unsuccessfully to get free of that bruising grip, but Yusuf was not done yet. "We wanted a quick and quiet stay, right? So be good and play along." With those words he finally let go of Nicolò, or rather pushed him inside, then went out again to retrieve the horses.

“Here, tend to the horses since you're at it,” Yusuf added as a final goodbye.

"Better deal with the horses than a pig anyway," Nicolò retorted promptly, making sure to rise his voice enough for Yusuf to hear him on his way out. He hadn't even lied, a night apart was truly a blessing at that point.

Yusuf didn't bother answering, he slammed the door shut and went to sleep. Or so he'd dared to hope. The moment he was in his room he sighed audibly. Leaning against the closed door he ran a hand through his hair in a gesture of pure frustration.

What was he doing? He hadn't been raised like that, the values he'd lived by until then were quite different. He'd never been the kind of man who _almost_ enjoyed dragging a prisoner in chains, he never reacted so poorly to blatant provocation, and surely he didn't stoop to petty revenges.

Finally he went to bed and found it comfortable, just like a pile of straw in a stable could never be. He tried to sleep, but he just couldn't because his thoughts kept on going to Nicolò. Did he have food and water? At least that shouldn't have been a problem, their bags were now full, and they'd left them with the horses. Was he cold, maybe? The night was quite warm, though, and Nicolò had his own cloak.

After a couple of hours spent tossing and turning Yusuf finally gave up, he got up, grabbed a lantern and went down to the stable. He opened the door slowly, called Nicolò softly so as not to startle him and get attacked for the effort, but he got no answer. He raised the lantern, then, and saw that the other man was soundly asleep.

That was unexpected, but also a huge relief for Yusuf's conscience, to the point that he could even smile at that circumstance. Nicolò knew how to be infuriating even in his sleep. On the ground, among the horses, he slept the sleep of the righteous, as if he'd never had a single care in his life, while Yusuf was having a horrible night despite his comfortable bed. He shook his head and decided to give that bed another chance, but his footsteps led him in the opposite direction.

Unable to look away, Yusuf knelt beside Nicolò. The Genoan's expression was so peaceful and relaxed, now, that he looked almost like another person. Without even realizing it Yusuf found himself studying the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his eyebrows and the shape of his eyes. He stayed there for an unspecified amount of time, then he finally remembered himself, got up and almost ran away.

Once in his room, Yusuf hastened to retrieve paper and charcoal from his bag. Drawing helped him relax and clear his mind, so maybe he'd even get some sleep. He also used that time to finally come to terms with himself.

He definitely would no longer yield to Nicolò's provocations, but he'd also do his best to get rid once and for all of the hatred that was slowly turning him into a person he didn't want to be. Sooner or later that journey would end, and by then Yusuf wanted to have some respect left for himself.

Eventually he managed a few hours of sleep, but he was up before dawn. He went back to the stable, determined to leave as soon as possible. Nicolò was already up as well, they exchanged a brief greeting, it was too early to fight anyway, then Yusuf went to saddle his horse.

Since the sun had not risen yet, and nobody would see them leave, Nicolò decided he could finally put an end to that awkward pretense; he fished the key to the shackles from his saddlebag so that he could free himself. To unlock those things while still wearing them soon proved to be hard, but his pride prevented him from even considering the option of asking for Yusuf's help. He was half sure the other man would've told him to fend for himself anyway.

For a while Yusuf kept himself busy tending to his horse, all the while looking sideways at Nicolò fumbling unsuccessfully with the key. It was oddly funny, but then he remembered the promise he'd made to himself and got closer, with the sole purpose of helping. It was the last thing that Nicolò would have expected, evidently, or at least he wasn't expecting Yusuf to approach him with peaceful intentions, because for one brief moment he forgot himself and jolted. It was a barely perceptible movement, but for Yusuf had the effect of a punch in the stomach. He couldn't really complain, though, if Nicolò believed him capable of attacking a man in chains, he was too vulnerable like that, and Yusuf knew he'd not really given him any reason to trust him.

"May I?" Yusuf tried again, pointing at the key with a wave of his hand, already resigned to a negative answer.

Nicolò weighed him for a long moment with his icy gaze, always so difficult to read, then gave Yusuf the key without saying a single word.

It was a small, tiny, but very welcome relief for Yusuf, who opened the shackles, gave the key back to Nicolò, and went back to look after his horse, leaving the other man the space he so obviously needed.

Finally free, Nicolò felt better already, to the point that he could immediately appreciate two things. The first one was that if a bit of humiliation and discomfort had helped to save lives, then it had been worth it. The second one was that he'd just seen some relief in Yusuf's eyes, and that had lifted his mood almost as much as Yusuf's cold, cynical smile had angered him the day before.

There was also a third thing, though. Despite his harsh words Yusuf hadn't really exploited the situation, and this made Nicolò think that, after all, that trick could really work without either of them having to suffer too much damage to the body or soul.

By now, anyway, he didn't want to think about what would happen if and when they needed to repeat the experience, he was still overwhelmed by too many events, too many emotions. Right now the night sky was brightening to a beautiful coral-veined indigo, the wind was cool, and an immense valley lay before them. Nicolò just wanted to enjoy all of those things.

For a while the two horsemen rode in a silence that could almost be considered companionable, although they both knew there were dozens of things to say. Eventually Yusuf fished an apple from his bag, only to decide that he wasn't really hungry, after all. For a while he entertained himself throwing the apple in the air and catching it, but eventually he had enough of the silence. He'd left full of good intentions that morning, he might as well carry them out immediately. As much as he still hated Nicolò's idea, he could at least admit that from a practical point of view it had been effective, he was even willing to use it again, but only at one condition.

"Are you alright?" Yusuf asked out of the blue, because he could beat around the bush the whole day, but that was the main point, Nicolò had to be truly ok with the whole thing as well.

At that the Genoan slowly turned his gaze on Yusuf and his still intact apple. "Yes" he answered simply, staring at the other man not without a good dose of amazement.

“I mean, really.”

“Yes. Really.” Nicolò said, and it was true. That he had to be so surprised by such a simple question, though, was quite appalling for Yusuf. It said a lot about how awful a human being he'd been until then.

"Do you have to be so surprised every time I act like a decent person?" He finally blurted out, but this time the resentment in his voice was almost completely fake.

Nicolò looked at him once again, with a raised eyebrow and an expression so eloquent that for once it was perfectly readable.

Yusuf shook his head. "Ras zeb," he murmured, forcing himself to suppress a smile.

"What does it mean?" Nicolò asked suspiciously.

"Nothing," Yusuf blatantly lied. He didn't really want to ruin the moment admitting he'd just called him _dickhead_ , but insulting Nicolò came so incredibly natural to him, that he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to do without.

"It doesn't matter,” Nicolò said. “I think I know what it means anyway."

“Is that so? And what do you think it means?" Yusuf teased.

"Che sei uno stronzo."

Yusuf narrowed his eyes. He didn't know even a word of Genoan so he didn't catch the rue meaning of those words: _that you're an asshole_ , but he knew for a fact that he'd just been insulted. Nicolò, however, seemed neither more serious nor angrier than Yusuf, and besides at least now they were even.

Once again the silence fell upon them, until evidently Nicolò decided that it was his turn for small talk. "Aren't you going to eat that?" He asked referring to the apple that Yusuf was still tossing absentmindedly into the air.

Yusuf just shrugged.

"In this case" Nicolò said, and Yusuf knew instantly, and without a doubt, that the Genoan was about to try something. Nicolò, in fact, got closer and with a sudden movement grabbed the apple in mid-air, before Yusuf could catch it for the umpteenth time.

"Give it back," Yusuf growled without even knowing whether to be incensed, impressed or amused. He surely had let himself be played like an idiot.

“No.” Nicolò answered.

“No?”

"If you want it back, come and get it," Nicolò said, then he spurred the horse and run away fast as the wind, leaving Yusuf holding the bag.

Now, Yusuf could understand many things. Running at breakneck speed was probably an outlet, for Nicolò, after being held prisoner, albeit not for real. Also, if Nicolò's retaliation was limited to an apple, Yusuf would count himself lucky. What he didn't understand was what on earth made the Christian believe he could rob him so easily.

"How old are you, you moron!" Yusuf yelled after him, but he spurred his horse as well and set off in pursuit, oblivious of the huge smile that was blossoming on his face.

As it turned out Nicolò was an incredibly fast rider and it wasn't easy for Yusuf to keep up. When he finally reached him, Nicolò had already dismounted and had even had time to pile up some stones on which the apple now stood proudly.

"Do you worship apples, now?" Yusuf teased, since that pile of stones very vaguely resembled an altar with a pagan idol on it.

"I certainly don't," said Nicolò with a blatant eye roll, then drew his sword. “First blood. Nobody dies. The winner gets the apple."

Sometimes Yusuf didn't really know whether to laugh or cry. "Are you serious?" He asked.

"Absolutely," Nicolò replied with a small, wicked smile, then he raised his sword and bowed his head briefly, as if to bless it. Yusuf had seen him doing that before actual fights, evidently Nicolò really wanted that apple, which was a good reason as any to not let him have it. Besides, if that was how the Christian planned to process the previous day and night, it wouldn't be that bad. Yusuf had at least as much energy and frustration to vent as Nicolò, and if for once they did it without really trying to destroy each other, he couldn't really complain.

"As you wish," Yusuf finally said, wielding his scimitar as well.

Although it wasn't a real fight, none of them spared their strength. Again and again their weapons collided with a metallic clang that echoed in the valley, and soon enough both Nicolò and Yusuf found themselves panting and sweating, and possibly more amused than two grown up men had any right to be, wasting their time and energy fighting for an apple.

They paused for a moment, just to regain their breath, never losing eye contact, until a gust of wind released a lock of Yusuf's long black hair from the string with which he usually tied it, and Nicolò found himself unable to not stare at it. It was black as a moonless night, and looked as soft as silk. Nicolò went very close to want to touch it, he didn't give into temptation, but that very brief moment of distraction costed him the victory.

Yusuf managed to disarm him with a single, powerful blow, then taking advantage of the surprise, spun his adversary around, and Nicolò could find himself held fast, with the cold blade of Yusuf's scimitar brushing his neck, almost without knowing how.

Once again Yusuf had to smile while he forced Nicolò's head back with his free hand, perhaps with a little too much energy for one mock fight, but still not hard enough to actually hurt.

“You've lost focus,” Yusuf reprimanded gently, and maybe just a bit condescendingly. “It's dangerous”, he also added, while his thumb slowly moved along Nicolò's jaw, almost as if he wanted to caress it but didn't really dare. That light touch sent a brand new kind of shiver down Nicolò's back, and only then did the Genoan realize that his back was pressed against Yusuf's chest.

His adversary's body was warm and solid and for some absurd reason, vaguely welcoming. "I give up," Nicolò said then, a bit too fast.

Yusuf didn't let him go yet. No blood was flowing and Nicolò could be sneaky when he wanted to be, plus now he was truly enjoying himself. “This better not be a ruse” he warned.

“No ruse, you won.”

Albeit reluctantly, Yusuf finally freed him and Nicolò hastily went to get the apple.

"Your prize," he said throwing the fruit at Yusuf, his expression was once again closed and guarded, but at least not hostile. Yusuf thanked him with a smug smile and a completely fake half bow, and that was it.

Anyway the exercise had definitely helped, because they both spent the rest of the day more relaxed than they had been for a long, long time.

In the following days it also helped villages or small towns could easily be avoided. Some time along the way both Yusuf and Nicolò had to accept that there was no perfect solution for everything, and that they had to make the best of what they had. So they fought, if they really had to, and for a while it was fine just like that.

The more time passed by, however, the more Yusuf grew to hate the idea of having to put Nicolò in chains again. In the long stretches of their solitary journey, when they had only one another's company, boredom took over and they were forced to communicate. Yusuf had to admit, in spite of himself, that Nicolò was intelligent, cultured, even funny when he wanted to be, and that absurdly he harbored no grudge against Yusuf for the time he'd been forced to sleep into the stable. This made it even more difficult for Yusuf to pretend to be his master.

Nicolò didn't particularly like the idea either, but he tolerated it rather well, mostly because he'd finally noticed how Yusuf always tried to protect him, even when it wasn't really necessary. Actually, Nicolò didn't particularly like needing protection in the first place, but he still appreciated Yusuf's good intentions.

That was an unexpected comfort for him, like a balm for his still tormented soul which cured at least a little that sense of absolute solitude that Nicolò always carried with him. Yusuf was supposed to hate him, and yet lately his behavior said something else entirely. Even his eyes were different, devoid of the cold cynicism that Nicolò was accustomed to, they looked now kind, almost friendly.

This, of course, didn't always suffice to avoid discussions or tension.

At the end of a scorching day, and apparently far from everything, the two travelers were happy to find a cave where they could camp. The starry sky was a wonder, but the nights were cold and not necessarily safe.

Since they were both hungry, Nicolò set about lighting a fire on which to roast the rabbits they had captured a few hours earlier, while Yusuf unloaded their stuff so that the horses could properly rest too.

Entering the cave with his arms full of wood, Nicolò tripped over one of the bags that Yusuf had left almost in the middle of the passage. Falling to the ground with very little of his usual grace, Nicolò had to swallow a rather unholy curse while his gaze casually went on the objects that had come out of the bag. Among the other things there was the small booklet on which Yusuf loved to draw who knows what when he was bored. Nicolò had never come close enough to look at it, sure that Yusuf wouldn't have wanted to share anything of the kind to him. Despite this, this time his curiosity prevailed.

Nicolò just wanted to put the stuff back in the bag, but a first, quick peek at the booklet turned into a closer look, so he found himself kneeling on the ground, leafing through the drawings. Soon he discovered that Yusuf was truly good at drawing, which was yet another detail that didn't match with everything that man should have been: a violent, uneducated warmonger. It was by now evident that Yusuf was something else entirely, he had a kind, although very passionate soul, and those drawings clearly showed his enormous sensitivity.

'You don't know anything about me' Yusuf had told him once, and Nicolò had simply accepted that it was true. Now many things were different, and he wanted to know more, much more. Even knowing that he shouldn't have, Nicolò continued to skim through the drawings with the implicit hope of penetrating deeper into the life and mind of the other man. He was now completely enraptured by some war scenes, true to life to the point of being frightening, in a way, just like the portrait of the dead boy, Karim, with his empty gaze turned to heaven and his mouth open, as he called his father for the last time.

That incident had really left a mark in Yusuf's soul and Nicolò, once again, felt the weight of his own guilt. He'd never meant to inflict such pain on Yusuf, and of course on the boy. Almost afraid of finding more of those portraits, Nicolò still went on, but what came next was in a way even more shocking. Nicolò himself was now the main subject; at times Yusuf had portrayed him on horseback, in another one Nicolò was laying on his side, asleep. Some other times Yusuf had captured only small details, such as Nicolò's hands or eyes, especially the eyes. Yusuf seemed to be a little obsessed with them.

Those pictures were simply beautiful. Was it possible, Nicolò wondered, that that was how Yusuf saw him? Handsome, fierce, almost flawless? Wasn't Yusuf supposed to at least dislike him? A sudden heat spread throughout Nicolò's body and he absentmindedly put a hand on his belly, clutching his own tunic, almost as if he wanted to keep that warmth inside himself, and prevent it from fading away.

The spell wasn't meant to last, though. "What are you doing?" Yusuf asked entering the cave and startling Nicolò. Without waiting for an answer the man snatched the drawings from Nicolò's hand.

"I'm sorry," the Genoan hastened to say. He knew he had invaded the other man's privacy and he wasn't proud of himself. It was possibly yet another mistake, yet another step back. Nicolò now was more frustrated than ever, why did he just have to keep on making mistakes, whenever it came to Yusuf?

"You had no right." Yusuf said, indeed, but then he fell silent. He actually didn't look mad, if anything it seemed as if he was waiting for something, for what, exactly Nicolò couldn't fathom.

"You're very talented" he then offered, because it was true.

That compliment wasn't exactly what Yusuf had expected. "This is none of your business," he could only mumble, more embarrassed than ever, then he walked away, leaving Nicolò where he was, kneeling on the ground, at a loss for words.

Out of the cave, trying to remind himself why he shouldn't kill Nicolò, other than it'd have been a useless effort, Yusuf forced himself to calm down. He didn't even know why he'd drawn a man he could barely stand. Or at least so it had been up to a point. Recently, things had changed, slowly but surely. There was something about Nicolò, in the way he moved, in the way he fought, even in the way he pronounced Greek. And obviously in his eyes. That, Yusuf could admit without a shadow of a doubt: Nicolò had incredible eyes and sometimes those blue-green irises lay on him longer than what would've been normal. When it happened Yusuf could almost feel them, like a soft caress on his body, while Nicolò didn't even realize what he was doing, at least most of the time. This raised a lot of doubts; in another circumstance, in another life or another world, Yusuf could perhaps have tried to investigate the meaning of those looks more deeply. But the fact remained that Nicolò was an enemy, a man, and moreover one who would soon leave.

Distracted as he was, it was almost too late that Yusuf noticed the sound of horses' hooves and wild screams. Turning around, from the top of the hill where the cave was, he saw something that set all of his alarms on.

It was a large group of men on horseback, they were yelling and twirling their scimitars, and they were heading right to the cave. Yusuf had met that kind of men, before, when he traveled as a merchant. They were vicious bandits who were not afraid to attack even the largest caravans. Ruthless, unscrupulous, without moral, they could become a very serious problem because human life had no value for them. Yusuf was pretty sure that even dying might not be safe around such a lot.

There was no time to think, though, the group was approaching quickly, they would arrive very soon and he absolutely had to do something to contain the damage. There were simply too many of them, fighting wasn't an option. He ran back inside the cave picking up a piece of rope from the ground, Nicolò had to be able to free himself more easily this time.

Seeing Yusuf basically launching himself at him like that, Nicolò reacted quite violently while the other man tried to tie his wrists. However, driven by fear, Yusuf managed to crush him against the hard rock wall and his own body. "There's no time!" He yelled, then he immediately added, "you have to trust me."

Those last words caught Nicolò so off guard that he actually stopped fighting back, and Yusuf finished tying him up right when the shouting of the newcomers and the snorts of their horses, could be heard right out of the cave.

Yusuf pushed Nicolò to the ground. "Shut up and play along," he told with an almost desperate, pleading look.

Nicolò, more confused than ever, nodded curtly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Not to be spoilerish, but I wanted to warn you all that the next chapter is going to be the one that made some ot the tags necessary. So be careful ^^


	5. Faith - part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, mind the tags!

The same instant Nicolò, apparently, consented to trust him and sat down quietly, Yusuf spun around, placing himself between the entrance to the cave and the fire beside which the Genoan now sat. It was a completely useless precaution, but what little was still in Yusuf's power to do, he'd do it. A few moments later the first of the newcomers entered the cave, feigning surprise at finding out that somebody was already there. Yusuf knew it was just a pretense, his horse and Nicolò's one were right outside the cave, in plain sight.

The ma who appeared to be the leader of the bandits advanced inward, slowly, as if he were walking leisurely. He was followed by a few of his henchmen, while the rest of the group was outside setting up a camp, acting as if that place belonged to them.

"And what do we have here?" the man said in Arabic, baring his gold teeth in an uneasy grin.

His head held high, his arms crossed, Yusuf replied, also in Arabic. "Who are you, what do you want?" His voice was firm as his gaze, he already knew he couldn't show any weakness.

"We come in peace, little brother," said the other, grinning and raising his hands. “We are but poor merchants traveling on business. This is one of our favorite shelters in this area, but we don't mind sharing." Yusuf nodded briefly, but of course, didn't believe him. Maybe it was true they already knew that cave, maybe not, but he knew for a fact that people like that never came in peace, ever. In all likelihood they weren't even merchants, at least not in the most common sense of the word.

"What about you?" The man asked, actually curious.

“I'm a merchant too,” Yusuf said, refusing to share any other detail.

The leader of the gang didn't particularly care anyway, but in the end what was inevitable happened. One of the men who had entered following him looked behind Yusuf. "Well well well. Guys, have you seen that? A mighty knight of the Holy Sepulcher!" He said in a mocking tone, pointing at the cross on Nicolò's coat. Then he turned to Yusuf and added, "I see you caught one of _those_ , that's nice!"

Yusuf sighed inwardly. Now the others too, five people in all, were looking at Nicolò in a way that didn't promise anything good.

"What are you going to do with him?" The leader asked before Yusuf could say anything.

Yusuf shrugged, "he'll work as my servant, of course."

The others laughed, not without a good dose of satisfaction, and Yusuf had to stop himself from turning to Nicolò. He needed to convince those strangers that the Genoan had no value for him, and yet he had an urgent need to know how he was, what he thought, what he planned to do. It was fortunate, for once, that Nicolò was very good at hiding his own emotions, in all likelihood he didn't even understand what they were saying, but Yusuf now knew him well enough to know that he'd to be up to something already, and he felt at least a little hopeful.

However, the situation immediately worsened, sweeping away even that bit of optimism, when another man, apparently very intrigued, approached Nicolò and bent down placing his hands on his own knees to observe the Genoan as if he were a rare commodity. This time Yusuf couldn't help but follow the scene with his eyes. Nicolò held the stranger's scrutiny without ever averting his icy eyes. Yusuf felt oddly proud, while hoping that Nicolò's behavior wouldn't end up being counterproductive. He was more than certain that those men were just waiting for the slightest provocation.

After that brief inspection, however, the man straightened up with a sarcastic laugh that hid a veil of uncertainty. He'd probably expected Nicolò to show fear or even submission.

_Yeah, good luck with that_ Yusuf thought.

"Are you sure you don't want to sell him?" The fake merchant asked, yet again in Arabic, obviously talking to Yusuf, but never taking his eyes off Nicolò.

Yusuf clenched his fists, the very thought of selling a human being made him sick. "I'm sure. He's strong, he can work," he replied, now barely able to control his rage.

"Hum," the merchant said again, then bent down once more and had the audacity to lift Nicolò's chin to get a better look at his face. Even that brief contact disgusted Nicolò to such an extent that for a moment he forgot that it would've been wiser to behave like an obedient slave, and freed himself from the grip with a jerk of his chin, with the only result of amusing the other man. "I knew it! It'll be fun to tame, this one!” The man said, “hey guys, look at his eyes, a true rarity,” he added, then once again turned to Yusuf.

“My brother-in-law has a brothel a few miles from here, people come from all over the region because he's got the best whores, but with this one, ah, with this one, we're going to get rich. Sell him to me, I'll pay you well." He said boldly, as if he were sure he'd just made a proposal that couldn't be renounced.

Yusuf's heart was now beating like a drum and anger was boiling inside him like the lava of a volcano ready to explode. He'd known since the beginning that those scum were going to be trouble, but he'd been naive, evidently, he'd refused to believe they'd stoop so low as to negotiate the buying and selling of other human being. Now he'd to do his best to feign nonchalance if he wanted to save the day, or at least avoid making it worse. In the cave alone there were five of those bandits, and he could count another ten outside; the hope of avoiding a fight that would have been totally against him and Nicolò was thin, but he had to try.

"He's not for sale, I told you," he replied flatly.

"Why not?" The other man asked, somehow sensing Yusuf's hostility, which made him blatantly suspicious.

The leader stepped in too. “Yeah, why not? He came to conquer and to own, and now he'll be conquered and owned. Every day and every night, many many times. I'd call it poetic justice." He concluded his speech with a cold laugh. The others didn't laugh, though, the atmosphere was getting tense, and the fake merchants were now watching Yusuf as if they were entitled to a good explanation.

Cold fury grew in Yusuf's heart, that that scum even dared to mention justice while talking about buying and selling people was really too much, but he'd to think and come out with a plausible reason, possibly something that wouldn't suggest, even for a moment, that he meant to protect Nicolò or the bandits would just have more fun at their expense.

All he'd left to do was to lower himself to their level. "Maybe I want to start my own business," Yusuf lied, hating himself like never before. Never, for any reason in the world, would he have devised such a vile act. And never, for any reason in the world, would he have used Nicolò, or anyone else, like that. At least his answer pleased the others, who were now laughing coarsely.

That sick relief didn't last long.

"Very well then, you've just found your first customers" the other man retorted immediately, then took a step forward, already with his hands on his belt, undoing it, but Yusuf stopped him. "I don't think so," he said with clenched fists, furious and terrified at the same time, desperately trying to come up with something, anything to put an end to that agony.

"What's wrong with you?" Asked the bandit, who no longer even pretended to smile. "I said we'll pay."

Yusuf now had at least one certainty, those men deserved to die. As much as he disliked killing, he seriously doubted that those scum could be considered human beings. There was only one thing to do, but Nicolò was tied up and couldn't defend himself, and what had basically been a decent plan on previous occasions was about to backfire sensationally. Yusuf's hand went, seemingly absentmindedly, to his own belt and only then did he realize that he'd left his scimitar out, beside the horses. His blood froze, despite the knowledge that even if he had been armed he couldn't have done much. If he reacted right now only two things could happen. Either the bandits would kill him, and then have fun using Nicolò to their hearts content, or he'd be outnumbered and be forced to watch while they violated Nicolò, maybe he'd even be forced to participate. It wasn't unlikely that he too would have been used in the same way.

However, the man was still waiting for an answer. "Don't take it the wrong way, man, but I don't think you have enough money," Yusuf finally said, because he'd to say something.

"What does that mean?" The other asked, narrowing his beady, black eyes suspiciously.

Cornered once again, Yusuf resorted to his latest weapon, praying Allah with all his heart that Nicolò couldn't understand since they were all still speaking Arabic. “He's still intact,” he said. “And I know someone too. Someone who pays very well for virginity." The most horrible thing, Yusuf thought, was that it was probably true. As far as he knew Christian priests were devoted to chastity even within marriage, and he had already noticed for some time that Nicolò had no familiarity at all with any kind of physical contact. This made that nightmare, if possible, even more terrible, especially since the look in the other men's eyes had become even more lustful. Yusuf was about to get sick, he could only hope he hadn't made everything worse.

"A virgin, uh?" The merchant asked indeed, all too intrigued. Once again he knelt in front of Nicolò, squeezed his face between his index finger and thumb to be able to look at him as if he were hoping to find the truth in his eyes. And once again Nicolò couldn't help himself, the warm touch of that sweaty hand was nauseating and he was trying to ignore what he'd just heard, but it was impossible. His instinct kicked in before he could do anything to prevent it, because he needed that ugly man away from him. He headbutted his assailant, and didn't bother holding back his strength.  
Though Yusuf considered it a stupid move, especially coming from a man who usually had ice in his veins, he still felt relieved. Nobody should have dared to touch Nicolò, especially not that poor excuse for a human being and not when it was so painfully obvious that the touch was completely unwanted.

The bandits burst out laughing and made crass jokes that Nicolò didn't understand, but their leader, much less amused, recovered quickly and backhanded Nicolò so hard that bright spots danced behind his eyelids, and he tasted his own blood. A few moments later, when his view was clear again, he saw that Yusuf had finally moved and was now holding the bandit's arm in midair, preventing him from hitting Nicolò again.

Despite this, Yusuf was still very careful to avoid eye contact. He couldn't make himself look at Nicolò in the eyes, not while he was bargaining with that scum for his body, even if he was just pretending in the hope of saving the day.

"Don't damage the goods," Yusuf said sternly, indeed.

The fake merchant looked at him, clearly resentful, he jerked his arm free but finally gave up. "Fair enough," he said standing up. Then he took some coins out of his pocket and gave them to Yusuf. "Here is your money, I'll tame this wild animal tonight, you'll thank me later."

Yusuf made the scene of counting the coins. "It's not enough, not for someone like that," he said.

The other gave him a malevolent grin, "you know what you're doing, I'll give you that."

This finally gave Yusuf a little opening. As much as he was screaming inside, he'd to act as a merchant dealing with an ordinary sale if he wanted to divert the attention of those ravenous vultures from Nicolò. Even taking that conversation away from the Genoan would help him breathe better and therefore think. And Yusuf desperately needed to think.

He took the money to show the bandit that he was willing to at least talk about it. "Let's go out and eat something, we'll deal better on a full stomach." He concluded.

The other man agreed and patted Yusuf on the shoulder as a sign of good will. "And we'll fuck even better, let's go," that said he gave Nicolò a final, filthy look that caused another roar of coarse laughter from his companions.

Yusuf, on the other hand, was completely horrified at the idea of haggling over such a thing. By comparison, putting Nicolò in handcuffs for a few hours now seemed only an innocent game. He swallowed the bile anyway and lead the other men out.

He didn't turn to Nicolò even once, he didn't know how much the Genoan had understood of that conversation, but the shame Yusuf felt for himself made it impossible for him to hold his gaze even for a moment. Part of him hoped that Nicolò would free himself and run away somehow, even if he'd have to leave Yusuf behind to do so. The only other option was to fight, together, and together be killed, but not before a cruel fate fell upon them both. Eventually they'd come back to life like any other time, but broken beyond repair, like empty shells with nothing left of the men they were now. Yusuf couldn't allow this to happen, for Nicolò's sake, and also for his own.

At least the others followed him out without sparing Nicolò a second glance either, as if he were an inanimate object without any importance. Only the man who had noticed him first, and who was still devouring him with his eyes, stood behind. "Intact, he says. Well, not for much longer anyway, tonight you'll bleed like any true virgin," he said, touching himself brazenly. "See you later, pretty boy."

Then, out of spite he kicked Nicolò into the ribs and finally went out leaving the prisoner dry heaving and groaning in pain.

It took a while for Nicolò to be able to breathe normally again, while his bruised ribs still throbbed painfully. Probably they were broken, but now he was finally alone, it had almost been worth it. With his heart pounding and his hands trembling, he held his small wooden cross praying for an idea, a solution, any way out, while his most recent wound mended itself.

Although he didn't fully understand Arabic, the situation was all too clear. Some of his fellow soldiers had tried to teach him what they thought were the essentials for living in a foreign country, so words like "brothel, whore, fuck" and other similar amenities were familiar to him. Nicolò had laughed with his friends, back then, never thinking for a moment that he'd need such knowledge. Now, however, it had helped him to at least get the big picture, albeit there was no need to know the language to understand what had happened, and worse still, what would happen next. The lecherous, lewd looks of those vulgar men were unmistakable in every part of the world, and now Nicolò felt dirty like never before.

Anyway, as disconcerting as all that was, his thoughts kept returning to Yusuf, to his coldness and detachment. Why hadn't he looked at him? Why hadn't he tried to communicate just like he'd done in the past? A brief glance, an imperceptible gesture, would have been enough, and Nicolò would have known that they were still on the same side. Had Yusuf really bargained with those scum like that, without batting an eye? Nicolò refused to believe that he'd betray him like that, and yet he'd clearly seen Yusuf take the money with which the men wanted to buy him, his body, his dignity, and at that moment something inside his soul had broken.

Did Yusuf really hated him up to that point? The last thing they'd done before that nightmare begun had been arguing over the drawings, but Nicolò considered it just a minor incident anyway, was it possible that Yusuf, instead, deemed it worth of such a cruel punishment? Nicolò had come so close to trusting him, to admiring qualities in him that he'd not suspected he possessed. It had taken a while, and some effort, but in the end it had also felt nice to finally have someone to rely on, after all the loneliness, the doubts and the confusion.

Now Nicolò just felt like an idiot. He had let his guard down, and that was the result. There was a part of him that still desperately wanted to believe in Yusuf, that was sure he'd had his reasons for acting like that. The last thing Yusuf had asked him, after all, was to trust him and what was Nicolò if not a man of faith? Yet it was the echo of all the other things Yusuf had said, to make the loudest noise in Nicolò's mind.

_I'll give you to somebody who can surely teach you the true meaning of pain_

_You are a curse, I wish you'd never came here_

_Whatever happens, you asked for it_

Yusuf, after all, had promised him pain from the very beginning, and perhaps he'd simply reached the end of his rope. The incident with the drawing could be the drop that broke the camel’s back and now Yusuf just had enough of Nicolò, of his constant mistakes, of his steps backwards. The net was about to close and Nicolò could feel it almost physically. His throat tightened, his breath shortened, and a cold claw gripped his stomach.

Those men would be back soon, and he knew what would happen then. It only remained to see what Yusuf would do, at that point. Would he stay out and wait for them to finish? Would he _watch_? The idea was simply disgusting and blind anger was now mixing with fear, making it very hard, for Nicolò, to actually consider the hypothesis that Yusuf would still be on his side.

In any case, there was no time and the risk was too great. Nicolò could stay where he was, hoping in Yusuf and only get himself killed and raped, in that order or in reverse, or he could act, try, and if he still had a comrade in arms, all the better. The main problem still remained, though, he was – or they were – definitely outnumbered, his only chance was to use his brain and try to improve the odds in his favor. He still had a dagger hidden in his boot, and he knew the hearts of weak men. In that circumstance he had no qualms about exploiting that weakness.

His longsword was outside, but he could see his crossbow from where he was sitting, half hidden behind one of the saddlebags; the relief that vision caused him would have made his knees buckle hadn't he been on the ground already.

He stood up, then, brought his wrists closer to the fire to burn the rope that bound them, biting his lip bloody to swallow the excruciating pain while the flames licked his skin, burning and blistering. The rope gave soon enough and it was enough for Nicolò to ignore the pain. It'd go away soon anyway. He went back to sit in his corner, wrapping the rope around his still unhealed wrists, so that it'd look like he was still bound.

Time went by, Nicolò never knew how much, and he waited, trying to keep his heartbeat under control. Then finally, what he hoped and feared at the same time, happened.

Two of the bandits entered the cave and walked slowly towards him. When they stopped in front of him, with their arms resting on their hips and a bold smile on their ugly faces, Nicolò recognized only one of them, the one who had kicked him. He had never seen the other one, not that it mattered anyway. He raised an impudent look at them, hoping that they would soon react. He despised them, they were nothing more than pigs, but he needed to have them closer.

"He's not bad, right?" The first man said to his companion, still speaking Arabic.

"Yeah," the other replied with a chilling grin and Nicolò had to make an effort to keep his breath under control. He needed to stay focused.

“You know, your master doesn't want to sell used goods and I respect that” the first man said, this time speaking to Nicolò, "but it shouldn't be a problem if we use your mouth for a while."

Once again Nicolò stayed impassive, but he'd understood enough of what the men were planning to do. A shiver run through his spine, if he made a mistake, if something didn't go according to his plan...

"Do you understand what we're saying?" The man asked, talking slowly. His friend answered in Nicolò's place. "He doesn't understand a word, try Greek."

The man came closer, crouched and put a hand on Nicolò's knee. His tiny, barely perceptible jolt only encouraged the guy to move his hand up to Nicolò's groin, with a slowness that had nothing to do with kindness. The man just wanted to prolong the torture, and in fact he took Nicolò's cock in a painful grip. This time Nicolò couldn't hide a shiver, nor suppress a pained groan.

“I said,” the man repeated in Greek, clearly enjoying seeing him in pain, and touching as if he already owned Nicolò, “that now we'll take your mouth, and you'll be good, or we'll make you spit all those pretty, white teeth. Do you understand?"

Nicolò nodded, and was rewarded with a backhand that made him taste blood once again. "Do. You. Understand?" The other hissed, punctuating each word, and barely refraining from shouting in the prisoner's face.

“I understand,” Nicolò forced himself to reply.

"And what did I say?"

"That I have to behave"

“Or?”

"Or you'll make me spit my teeth."

The guy who was still standing clapped twice in mock appreciation. "What a good boy!" He said, coming closer as well. Then the other man got up and unlaced his pants, never taking his eyes off Nicolò.

The bandit was already hard, he took his fat, swollen cock in his hand and stroked himself in a gross display of power, and his friend was visibly turned on too. Once again Nicolò had to swallow his fear, forcing himself to repress his nausea, what he couldn't avoid was casting a furtive glance towards the entrance of the cave. Where was Yusuf? What was he doing? Had he noticed those men leave the group? Nicolò would have carried out his plan anyway, but how much better he would have felt if he had known that Yusuf at least cared a little.

Instead Yusuf didn't come and his two assailants partially guessed his thoughts.

"Don't worry," said the one who was already half undressed. "Your master won't be angry, and if he is we'll protect you, but you have to be good." The other laughed rudely, shamelessly palming himself, then urged his friend, "hurry up now, or I'll go first."

"Get lost, asshole, this was my idea," retorted the other. In that brief bickering, in those very short moments in which the attention of the two bandits was not on him, Nicolò finally found his salvation. He loosened the grip on the rope which slipped off easily, then he pulled the knife out of his boot with a neat, quick movement, snapped up like a spring and buried it in the first man's throat. With his mouth wide open in surprise and terror, the second guy barely had time to see the spray of blood smearing everything before Nicolò raised his weapon again and stabbed him too.

Within seconds the two men were slumped to the ground, lifeless. Nicolò took the pleasure of returning the kick in the ribs he'd got before, then waited a few seconds, perfectly still, holding his breath, to make sure that no one had heard anything, and so it was.

Judging from what he could hear, the men outside the cave were too busy drinking and laughing. Yusuf was with them, doing what exactly, Nicolò didn't know, and didn't want to know.

Moving as quietly as possible he retrieved his crossbow, its weight in his hands was familiar and comforting, and he already felt a little better.

Hidden in the shadows he got as close to the cave entrance as he could, and finally he saw Yusuf. He was sitting next to the leader of that rabble, Nicolò couldn't hear what they were talking about, but he could guess and it made him sick. Next to them, on the same big log, was another man. They were all with their back to the cave's entrance, and the fire of a large bonfire lit them perfectly, making his job all too easy. The other men were scattered around too, probably drunk and dazzled by the fire. Nicolò counted thirteen of them, fourteen with Yusuf. He had to be able to take out at least two more people before they understood what was going on. That would bring the number of the enemies down to eleven. Eleven half drunken men.

It could be done, they could win, he and Yusuf. Maybe. If they fought together.

Nicolò chose the two guys sitting closest to Yusuf, so that he could give him a better chance, even though he wasn't sure the man deserved it.

He cocked the crossbow, aimed, and hit the leader first, right at the base of his neck. Then he repeated the same sequence, fast and precise as a machine. His second victim went to the ground without a sound, and then all hell broke loose.


	6. Faith - part II

Trying to avoid confrontation had been a stupid miscalculation, Yusuf knew that, there was only one way to deal with some kinds of people and if he'd to be honest with himself Yusuf was looking forward to it. Nevertheless, by now there wasn't much he could do with the few means at his disposal, of course this didn't mean Yusuf was going to give up.

He started making the fake merchants lower their guard, hoping that this would give him and Nicolò at least a chance to a fairer fight. It mattered little, at that point, that his conscience and his honor were sullied beyond measure, after talking to such a people about topics unworthy of any civilized human being. It was all about the result, and the result was to prevent that scum from hurting Nicolò, Yusuf himself, and possibly anyone else who ever had the misfortune to cross those people's path in the future.

Then suddenly the leader of the gang slumped to the ground, the other men laughed, believing him too drunk to even stay awake, but Yusuf understood immediately what was going on, and a tiny spark of hope brightened his dark mood. That the others hadn't already noticed the arrow buried in the dead man's neck was another good sign. He bent over the corpse and slipped the knife from the dead bandit's belt at the same instant in which the other man sitting next to him died, pierced by another one of Nicolò's arrows.

Yusuf felt the hair on his neck stand up, then. Would the next shot be for him? Had Nicolò some patience left to at least give him the benefit of the doubt?

Since he'd find out in a few moments anyway, Yusuf used what little time he had to make himself useful. Chaos was breaking out all around, the bandits had finally realized to be under attack and had gotten up on their shaky legs to hurry and retrieve their weapons.

Yusuf stood up as well, well beyond the worry of being an easy target for both the bandits and Nicolò. He threw the knife and hit the first of the fake merchants who was now leaping at Nicolò with a wild cry.

Nicolò didn't really pay attention to him, he was too focused on his opponents, and Yusuf was left with an uneasy feeling. He didn't know what to expect, exactly, but that lack of communication, at such a time, didn't bode well.

What was bad for sure, anyway, was that Yusuf was now unarmed, and that Nicolò was holding a crossbow instead of his own sword. He surely had proven more than once to be formidable with that weapon, but a crossbow was far from ideal in a close fight.

Since apparently their enemies were all too focused on Nicolò, Yusuf picked up a piece of burning wood from the fire and ran towards the horses, where he knew he'd find the swords, but his run was interrupted too soon, when one of the bandits threw himself at him, making him fall ruinously to the ground.

Yusuf had barely the time to turn on his back, and already his assailant had his hands around his neck. The man's hold was tight and painful, but Yusuf had more than enough of that scum already, and he certainly wasn't going to get himself killed by one of them.

He managed to kick the bandit away and when the man fell on his back Yusuf hit him in the face with the burning log, so hard it knocked him unconscious. Then he could finally retrieve the swords.

"Nicolò!" He screamed to attract the other man's attention, but the bandits were closing in on him and Nicolò was too focused on them.

Yusuf's cry at least got some of those men's attention from the Genoan and on himself. Not without a good dose of unhealthy satisfaction, Yusuf sliced the chest of the first man who attacked him, then called again, "Nicolò!" forcing his way towards his ally.

This time Nicolò turned to him and for a moment Yusuf almost hoped he hadn't. The look in his clear eyes was like the cold caress of Death itself. It was almost a relief that Yusuf had no time at all to dwell on the bad taste that look left in his mouth.

_Later_ , he though, and threw the long sword at Nicolò, who grabbed it and unsheathed it just in time to parry a powerful blow from one of the bandits.

After that Yusuf had to focus solely on the fight as well. Three men were now attacking him with an unprecedented ferocity, they were like rabid dogs, all of them, as they'd assumed they'd easily be able to overcome two people. But if their rage made them more vicious, it also drove them towards error, and all the alcohol in their bodies made their reflexes slow and their movements uncoordinated.

Yusuf managed to kill one of them quite easily, but he was soon forced to retreat under the powerful blows of the remaining two.

He bumped into something, at some point, or rather someone. Instinctively he turned around and met Nicolò's gaze once again. It wasn't more friendly or nicer than before, yet fighting together again, looking at each other's back, for Yusuf hold a certain charm.

They could be quite an efficient team, together.

"You ok?" Yusuf asked briefly, while trying to keep the bandits at bay.

Nicolò didn't answer, and again Yusuf felt as if he'd swallowed a rock. He very well knew that he wasn't supposed to lose focus, but the distance in Nicolò's demeanor made his heart sink. They were supposed to be allies, then again, obviously Nicolò was furious at him, as he had every right to be. One way or another, Yusuf now had the answer he'd been looking for, and the answer was no, Nicolò was not ok.

A moment later he paid for his distraction, one of the bandits slashed his leg open, forcing him to bend to one knee. If nothing else physical pain brought his mind back where it belonged, so Yusuf forced himself to ignore the pain and the blood that gushed from a wound that would heal on its own anyway, and rose with a battle cry that was like a lion's growl.

That fight had to reach an end, those bandits had to disappear from the face of the earth because Yusuf needed to talk to Nicolò, and needed to do it now.

His two attackers fell to the ground with their stomachs torn open by Yusuf's scimitar, another man instead ran away, and Yusuf didn't bother going after him. It was one problem less, not worth anybody's time.

He finished the first man he'd left unconscious on the ground, instead, to avoid further surprises, then he could finally look for Nicolò once again. The fight had pushed the Christian back into the cave, but he was having the best of his enemies as well, and the last one of them dropped dead in a pool of blood before Yusuf could do anything to help.

It was over, finally, and Yusuf could breathe a sigh of relief. Incredibly they'd made it, but he feared that the real battle, the most important one, possibly the most difficult as well, was yet to begin.

He was exhausted, his injured leg was still sore to the point it was painful to walk on it, the arm holding the scimitar hurt as well and shook from the effort, and he was also covered in blood from head to toe.

Nicolò definitely didn't look any better, but all the adrenaline still pumping in his veins gave him enough strength to grab the hilt of his long sword with two hands and thrust it into the ground with such force he buried it almost halfway.

Right after he marched toward Yusuf with wide, swift strides and punched him square in the face. Hard.

Before he could really understand what had happened, Yusuf found himself with a hand gripping the collar of his tunic, a sharp knife pointed at his neck and Nicolò, who was now less than a breath away from his face, frighteningly similar to a hungry predator furious for having to chase his prey too long.

"Let me go, let's talk," Yusuf tried, forcing himself to keep calm. He had a dangerous mix of negative feelings in his heart: guilt, regret, anger, shame, and he didn't know how long he'd be capable to keep them all at bay. He'd never been that good at hiding his emotions in the first place.

Also, Yusuf couldn't deny an almost desperate desire to punch Nicolò back because he so evidently didn't want to listen to a single thing he'd to say. On the other hand the need to beg for Nicolò's forgiveness was just as strong. Yusuf would never have allowed those men to hurt him, but of course he hadn't been able to tell Nicolò this, and he knew how terrible it had to be, in such a dire situation, to see the only person left in the world who could barely pass for a friend, to literally turn his back and leave.

He'd let Nicolò come too dangerously close to an experience that would've scared even the bravest man, and Yusuf couldn't really blame him for being so shaken.

"Fuck you." Nicolò said, indeed, far too done already to sugarcoat things. Yusuf closed his eyes for a moment, sighing. He'd known from the start it wouldn't be easy, but he had to do something. He just couldn't get himself killed like that, at least not before making sure that Nicolò was truly okay.

In one swift move he freed himself and pushed the Genoan away, then, taking advance of that single moment of disorientation, Yusuf grabbed him by the arm, made him turn around and pushed him against the wall, effectively trapping him.

Not that Yusuf was any prouder of himself for that small victory, but he could see that in the state in which Nicolò was, weren't helping. At least not yet.

As it turned out, violence didn't either.

Obviously Nicolò was even less willing to be held like that than he was to listen to anything Yusuf had to say, and just to make that point clear he headbutted the other man on the nose. The blow didn't break the bone, but hurt like hell and left Yusuf stunned for a couple of seconds, just the time it took Nicolò to spun around and punch him again.

"You asshole," Yusuf hissed, Nicolò wasn't holding his punches, but the very unpleasant sensation in the pit of his stomach had nothing to do with physical pain. What if that was an irreparable fracture? What if they'd reached a breaking point? And why Yusuf cared so much?

Despite all their differences, all the quarrels, even though they'd started their journey killing each other, things had started to change and Yusuf felt oddly nostalgic for something that hadn't even happened yet.

Now he wanted that something to happen, he wanted to trust Nicolò, and be trusted in return, even if he'd never really done anything to deserve it. They'd been just so close to lose each other, that night, and they still were, that now Yusuf had no qualms about admitting that he didn't want to simply share his destiny with somebody, he wanted to share it with Nicolò.

Was it too late? Obviously, when push came to shove, Nicolò had chosen to believe in himself rather than in a man who had agreed to chain him with all too much enthusiasm, who had left him to sleep in a stable, and above all who had apparently left him to fend for himself against a pack of jackals, taking his sweet time waiting for some brilliant idea to magically come to his mind.

But Yusuf wanted to believe that things could still get better, everything could still be different, he could fix it, providing, of course, that there was still something left to fix.

One thing at least was clear, if Nicolò killed him, if he run away, weeks could go by before they'd the opportunity to talk again, or Yusuf would simply lose track of him, Nicolò would find his way to the coast, board a ship and they'd never see each other again.

Of course Yusuf would let Nicolò go if that was what the Genoan wanted, but for some reason the idea of separating from him like that, like an enemy, felt terribly wrong.

He took the umpteenth deep breath of the night, if only Nicolò wasn't so stubborn. Yusuf didn't exactly approve of certain methods but desperate times called for desperate measures. He threw himself at Nicolò, then, making him lose balance a fall on his back, then straddled him and pinned his wrists to the ground.

It was a claustrophobic, unpleasant feeling, and Nicolò felt what little clarity he still possessed slip through his fingers like fine sand. Had he been more rational he'd have found the way to get rid of Yusuf, but the adrenaline rush which had held him on his feet until now was slowly fading away, leaving him completely exhausted, both physically and mentally. His movements were now too weak and poorly coordinated, while Yusuf could at least use the weight of his own body.

"Calm down, we need to talk" Yusuf said, but he only managed to anger Nicolò more.

"Calm. Down." Yusuf repeated, Nicolò spat in his face and Yusuf prayed to Allah to give him the strength not to break his face. Apparently somebody listened to his prayer because when Yusuf slapped Nicolò the blow came out as something in between a caress and a friendly pat, much more similar to a wake-up call than anything else. It also worked, somehow, because Nicolò didn't use his now free hand to hit back, and something in his eyes changed.

"I'm sorry, Nicolò, for everything!" Yusuf hastened to say, still pinning Nicolò wrists to the ground. Just in case.

At those words the surprise in Nicolò's clear eyes was at least a sign that Yusuf had managed to get on the right path, in one way or another.

"Nicolò, I know I forced you to doubt me, but…"

Nicolò didn't let him finish, “son of a bitch, why did you take their money?”

"You can't really think I'd have let them hurt you like that!"

"You left! You took their money and you left and I never know what to think when it comes to you!" Nicolò shouted.

Yusuf frowned. “Uh?” He said, perfectly aware of his lack of eloquence.

Nicolò, on the other hand, had finally found his words. "Are we frie... fellow travelers, are we sworn enemies, are we two men too lost and scared to keep on living on their own? I don't know who you are, hell I don't even know who I am at this point. What I know is that you ask me to trust you and then you sell me out like a common whore!" He was shouting, now, and he didn't really care. He was so confused, furious, frustrated that he'd to use whatever was left of his energy simply to keep his thoughts coherent.

At least, while still as taut as a violin string, he was no longer trying to hit Yusuf and that was already something.

"I don't know what we are, Nicolò," Yusuf admitted, shaking his head slowly. He really didn't, and it felt like a defeat, but there was only one thing he was sure of, at that point. "I'd never let them touch you, you have to know that."

"How? How am I supposed to know?" Now Nicolò looked defeated too, still his voice was colder and sharper than the blade of his sword. Yusuf tried to get past the fear that still gripped his stomach because there was something else in Nicolò's eyes, hope, maybe, or even a prayer, as if he were begging Yusuf to prove that he was telling the truth. Yusuf would've killed himself a thousand times over just to give him that proof, but he didn't know what he could say anymore that didn't sound like a last minute excuse.

The only thing left was the truth. "Look, I didn't know what to do, so I tried to buy us some time,” he said, fearing that it wouldn't be enough. “I didn't really have any other choice. I'm sorry, and I know it doesn't mean a thing, but I'll keep on telling you until the end of the world, if necessary, so maybe one day it'll enter your thick skull, I'd never, ever let those animals touch you!"

"Why?" Nicolò snarled lifting his chin as if to challenge Yusuf once again to say something, anything that could convince him that he wasn't lying.

Yusuf didn't feel challenged, though. There was so much doubt, fear, confusion, in those beautiful eyes, and it was all his fault. If anything he felt guilty. The answer that time came to his mind so sudden, obvious, easy, that it took him by surprise _because you didn't deserve it, because those scum weren't worthy of you, because I want to keep you safe even if you don't need me, because nobody touches you but me._

"Because I'm not like them," Yusuf said, instead. Then he got up, there wasn't really anything left to say, and he just couldn't take his eyes off Nicolò's lips. Despite being quite freaked out by that last realization, Yusuf didn't go far, he sat on the ground, needing to get away from Nicolò and to be close to him at the same time.

Whether the Genoan attacked him or not, it made no difference anymore. He'd said what he had to say and there wasn't much else he could do, except hoping it was going to be enough.

Nicolò had lost all his fight as well; he sat up tiredly, his whole body ached, and Yusuf's words had struck him somehow. On a second thought Nicolò realized that what had really gotten to him was the broken tone of Yusuf's voice, together with the endless, unmistakable sincerity in his eyes. For a moment Nicolò had hoped for a clear, unambiguous answer. In a way, if Yusuf had simply confessed that he hated him, if he'd admitted that he'd just tried to save himself at Nicolò's expense, everything would have been easier.

Yusuf's answer had instead opened a new abyss of doubts and uncertainties. Nicolò didn't know what exactly bound them together, neither did Yusuf, yet they were evidently unable to let each other go.

Maybe he'd to just accept the fact and make everything easier for himself, but he couldn't. Actually, it was as if the weight of the past months had just decided to add to that of that horrible night. It collapsed on him all together, razing to the ground any defense Nicolò had ever managed to build around himself. He could feel the filthy hands of those poor excuses for men on his body, now even more than when they'd actually touched him. He'd been too focused on killing them, before, now that he was finally allowing himself to accept what had happened, and especially what could've happened, tears of anger started to ran down his cheeks, digging furrows of pale skin in the blood and dirt staining his face. He wiped them away with his sleeve, annoyed at himself beyond measure. It'd probably been the most humiliating night of his life, that Yusuf saw him cry like an idiot was just the icing on the cake. Why was he crying, anyway? It was yet another thing Nicolò wasn't meant to know.

They'd won, they were safe, everything had gone miraculously well, he should have been happy, or at least relieved, instead he'd a storm of emotions raging inside that he simply couldn't keep at bay.

The last thing Yusuf could ever have thought at that moment, however, was that Nicolò was an idiot, or weak, but he kept silent, trying to give the other man some privacy and using that time to put his thoughts in order as well. He was terrified of saying or doing the wrong thing, Allah knew how many mistakes he'd already done.

Then his gaze fell on the two corpses lying by the fire, too internally considering they'd almost always fought outside. One of them had his pants untied and a terrible thought crept into Yusuf's mind, making his skin crawl.

_No,_ it was all his terror-blinded mind could produce. _No!_

He'd noticed the two men leaving the group, claiming in no uncertain terms that they needed to piss. He hadn't really trusted them, but then chaos had broken out, and he'd assumed those two had been killed like everybody else. Now Yusuf wanted to ask, he needed to know, but he wasn't sure he had any right to do so.

The purest anguish was making its way into his soul, though, and his heart was beating fast again, as if faced with imminent danger; eventually, he couldn't help himself.

"Nicolò," he asked, hesitant. “Did they hurt you?”

Following his gaze Nicolò understood what exactly Yusuf was asking. "No," he said curtly, and added nothing more.

Yusuf raised a hand, as if to rest it on Nicolò's shoulder, or take his hand, but in the end he didn't dare touching him.

"Nicolò," he tried again, this time in a firmer voice, "look at me, please."

Nicolò raised a cautious and uncertain look in Yusuf's eyes, then he'd to look away once again. Why everything had to be so difficult?

Yusuf felt as if he were falling. "Nicolò, please, _please_ , talk to me."

This time Nicolò sighed, resigned more than annoyed. He didn't really have anything left to lose. He wiped away another tear with a gesture of genuine frustration, then spoke. "You know how those people are, they threatened me" he shrugged, “they... they touched...but that was pretty much it."

Yusuf's heart was now pounding, his temples throbbing painfully and a persistent burning was behind his eyes. _Pretty much it_ didn't even begin to cover it.

Nicolò had been lucky, or not, those men had managed to do very little but that little was still far too much and Yusuf would have gladly killed them again, and again, and again, with his own bare hands.

But they were dead, Nicolò instead was alive, and he was there and he was so obviously fighting with all his strength against an invisible enemy that it was painful even just watching him. This time, at least, he didn't have to fight alone.

Perhaps if Yusuf had stopped to think he could have drawn up a very long list of all the good reasons for not doing what he was about to do, instead this time he followed his instinct. He got closer and placed a hand on the back of Nicolò's neck, then slowly, gently, pulled him towards himself.

"I'm sorry, Nicolò" he said.

Nicolò widened his shining eyes in surprise, but let himself be guided until his forehead was resting on Yusuf's chest.

At first Nicolò was stiff as a piece of wood, but then slowly, slowly, he relaxed, unwittingly clutching Yusuf's tunic in his fists, finally accepting that he simply couldn't do without that embrace.

It felt so good when Yusuf stroke his bloody hair, that his tears, instead of calming down, began to flow even more freely. Until then Nicolò hadn't even realized how much he needed the comfort of a gentle touch, some tangible sign that he wasn't alone, after all. It all felt so right that eventually he gave up on feeling ashamed of his own weakness as well.

Pride, war, even religion, nothing mattered anymore, it really didn't. What mattered was that the hands of the men who had touched him against his will had made Nicolò feel as dirty as sin, but now Yusuf's gentle strokes were making him clean again, almost pure, even if they were both covered in blood, sweat and dirt. And besides it was true. Completely, absolutely ture. Yusuf wasn't like them. Yusuf wasn't like anybody he'd ever met.

Meek now, but unusually happy to be, Nicolò wept silently in the warm embrace of his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this more or less closes a first narrative arc, but there's more to come! 
> 
> I hope you'll still be with me, and I also want say THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart to all the lovely people reading, sending kudos and commenting. I honestly didn't expect to get such an amazing rasponse, after all this is a story written in a language that is not my mothertongue, about two characters I feel know too little about (I haven't even read the comic: P), so the risk of being OOC is constantly around the corner XD


	7. A new beginning

The only good thing about dealing with many enemies at once was all the useful things they left behind. That time Nicolò and Yusuf were particularly happy to find some skins full of water with which to wash off the blood.

It wasn't enough to feel truly comfortable in their own clothes, which were already worn and dirty from before, but the water still helped somehow.

Dedicating themselves to small practical tasks, moreover, had also helped a lot to dissolve the tension of the moment in which, after the first, violent emotional wave, the two had realized to be tight in an embrace that was maybe even too comfortable.

As soon as he'd regained control over himself, Nicolò had muttered a "thank you," to which Yusuf had replied with an equally awkward "you're welcome." Then they'd gotten up, recovered their weapons and immediately started looking for water among the bandit's baggage.

After a while it seemed that both of them could finally go back to acting and talking to each other normally, as if nothing so _huge_ had just happened. For one night it had been more than enough, they needed to find their inner balance once again.

Next to his horse, Nicolò finished washing his face and started rearranging the saddlebag. "We should get rid of these clothes as soon as possible," he said out of the blue.

Yusuf slowly turned to him, puzzled. "What?"

"Or at least find a way to wash them," Nicolò continued, completely unaware of the almost comical way in which Yusuf had winced.

As if struck by a small, sudden, relieving realization, Yusuf nodded. Nicolò was absolutely right. Their clothes were now almost unpresentable, they'd just scare people wherever they went. Not to mention the smell. The summer was almost over, a few months had passed by since they had set out on their journey, and Yusuf was starting to feel sorry for their horses.

He rummaged through the things left behind by the bandits again until he actually found some clothes. In the flickering light of the fire they looked basically new. Hesitant, he sniffed them and found out that they were also clean. Presumably they'd belonged to some poor fellow robbed and possibly killed by the bandits. The idea of wearing those clothes didn't appeal at him at all, and he was sure that Nicolò wouldn't like it either. However, they didn't have much of a choice.

If anything, Yusuf thought, the problem was that putting on clean clothes while they were still so dirty was a waste. An idea then occurred to him, and he put the clothes among his other things.

"You know, I seem to remember there is a river a few miles from here."

At the word _river_ Nicolò's attention was immediately captured. "A river? Why didn't you say that before?" He asked without any accusatory intent.

“Well, I'm not from this area,” Yusuf admitted, “I don't know the region that well but I'm sure getting to the river will take us off the road for at least ten days, there and back. I thought you were in a hurry."

Nicolò gave it a quick thought. Ten days were not too long, after all, and he was that close to sell his soul just to be able to wash himself. Genoa, or whatever its destination might have been, would go nowhere.

"It will be worth it," he said, then he added, almost tentative, "if you don't mind wasting some time."

"No," Yusuf said simply, "of course not," but he didn't elaborate further, leaving a good dose of curiosity in the other man. The more time went by, the more he couldn't fathom why Yusuf hadn't given up on that journey already, for an instance, despite all the difficulties and perils. Their last, disastrous ordeal would've provided him with the perfect occasion to opt out, and Nicolò would've understood. After all, nothing had ever really tied Yusuf to him, there had been no pacts, no promises, only a few hasty words to ratify an agreement which would have benefited Nicolò much more than Yusuf. This lead Nicolò to wonder what the other man intended to do next as well. He knew it was none of his business, but the idea of Yusuf wandering the world forever alone didn't seat well with him, although it was mostly what Nicolò himself feared he'd end up doing with his own life.

They left headed for the river anyway, and for some time they just shared the silence riding slowly. They were both dead tired but without needing to talk about it they'd decided that sleeping in the cave, surrounded by corpses and bad memories, would have been impossible.

"So, you are a merchant," Nicolò asked after a while.

That simple statement made the blood in Yusuf's veins freeze for a moment. He didn't want to retrace the conversation in which he'd actually claimed to be a merchant, much less what he had forced himself to say after that. Nicolò had accepted his apology, he could only hope it was enough to close the incident once and for all and besides the mere idea of going again over every horrible detail made him sick.

Eventually Yusuf guessed that Nicolò was just trying to start a polite conversation, perhaps to fill the silence, or to keep himself awake, and there was no reason to not indulge him.

"I started with my father, then I got a taste for it, I suppose. When he got too old to travel I went on on my own."

"Your wife will be delighted to never have you around." Nicolò replied with a small cheeky smile.

“Funny!” Yusuf said sarcastically. “What makes you think I'm married anyway?"

Nicolò shrugged, “nothing. Aren't you?"

"No, oddly enough you were right. What's the point in marring a woman just to leave her alone all the time?"

Nicolò nodded, Yusuf had a point but he had the feeling that there was more, as if that was just one part of the truth. Not wanting to ask any inappropriate questions, however, Nicolò he fell silent once again. Family, friends, the affection that made life worth living were apparently privileges not meant for immortals. He wasn't sure he was ready to go without, and probably neither was Yusuf, but he couldn't bring himself to voice those thoughts. Actually, they were so depressing that he did what he always did whenever they crossed his mind, he pushed them down, ignored them, despite the knowledge he was only going to make everything worse.

The following days were fortunately peaceful. The two talked about this and that, holding on to neutral topics, almost tiptoeing around each one of them, as if they were afraid of saying the wrong thing. Neither of them had the strength or the will to go back to hate and resentment again, but at some point it became all so awkward it was almost comical.

What saved them was finally reaching their temporary destination.

The river to which Yusuf had led them appeared before their astonished eyes as a long, huge jade-paved road, winding its way through a valley bordered by hills and high mountains.

They arrived on a clear blue sky morning, with the sun glinting on the still surface of the water, dazzling the view and making their hearts beat for the sheer beauty of the sight.

They found a small group of almost completely dry trees at the foot of a hill and they decided to stop there, even though there were still many hours of daylight. For a while Nicolò said nothing, busying himself setting up the camp, but when there was nothing more to do, he turned towards the river bank, contemplated it for a few long minutes and finally walked towards it, discarding his worn out clothes one by one. Yusuf just watched, as if hypnotized, as Nicolò entered the water, completely naked, and swam slowly away from the shore.

Yusuf couldn't keep his eyes from the musculature of Nicolò's board back, from his long legs and strong arms, from the narrow hips and firm buttocks. He knew he shouldn't stare, but he just couldn't help himself. He almost had the urge to retrieve the charcoal to fix those details on paper, but Nicolò's body itself, albeit impossible to not watch, wasn't what had captured his attention for so long, or at least not the only thing.

That whole scene had been a bit like watching a bird relearning to fly, an ordinary, and yet absolutely fascinating sight that made him inexplicably happy.

Pulling himself together before Nicolò noticed he was being a creep, Yusuf retrieved the clean clothes, left them in plain sight, and left the other man the choice whether to wear them or not, then he walked along the shore for a while. On the battlefield, among fellow soldiers, privacy was a luxury for commanders and kings, and judging by the ease with which Nicolò had undressed, he too must have been of the same idea. Despite this Yusuf knew by instinct that it'd have been better, for them both, to enjoy that moment alone. When he felt he was far enough, he undressed as well and dived the fresh, clean water which was truly a blessing for his body and his mind. He swam for a long time, letting his mind wander, until the skin on his fingers was wrinkled, and small chills run down his back. Only then did he come out of the water, finally clean again.

He put the new clothes on, then went back to the camp where he found that Nicolò had done the same and more. He'd shaved completely and had also cut his hair a little shorter, leaving it loose and wet on his shoulders, instead of tying it up in the usual bun.

For a moment Yusuf paused. Nicolò looked so different it was almost as if he was seeing him for the first time. He was about to tease him good-natured, but the expression on the Genoan's face, so pensive, so determined, made Yusuf hesitate.

He sat down cross-legged on the grass while Nicolò lit the fire. Yusuf had no idea why, considering it was broad daylight and they still hadn't caught anything to cook on it.

Before he could ask any questions, Nicolò took his old clothes, including the coat with the cross, and threw them on the fire.

Yusuf stood still silent, watching him watch the cross devoured by the flames.

In the end Nicolò, feeling the other man's eyes on himself, answered without being asked any question. "It only brought problems."

That sentence really opened up an endless chasm of possibilities. A thousand questions popped into Yusuf's head all at once, but he couldn't formulate a single one. It got even worse when his eyes were captured by a detail, and he found it so disconcerting that this time he couldn't just keep silent.

The new tunic Nicolò was wearing had a deep neckline that left his skin uncovered up to below the collarbone. There was nothing there, where before was the small wooden cross that so many times Nicolò had held in his hands, as if he drew comfort, strength and advice from it.

"Did you burn your cross?" Yusuf asked, not knowing why he found the idea so upsetting.

Nicolò shook his head. "I lost it at the cave," he said.

“Oh. I'm sorry.” And for some reason Yusuf really was.

"It was just a piece of wood, we carry our faith is in our hearts, right?"

Yusuf nodded, because it was undoubtedly true, and yet he knew that Nicolò was trying to convince himself, while asking Yusuf for some sort of confirmation. That cross had not been just a piece of wood, for Nicolò, Yusuf was sure of it. Perhaps it was a gift from a loved one, perhaps one of the few things Nicolò still had left from his home, it shouldn't have possibly been easy, for him, to part from it and Yusuf was disappointed he couldn't help.

Later, they went hunting separately, and it helped a great deal to relax to the point that when the two men met again at their camp they were acting normal again. Nicolò left his prey on the ground and said with some urgency, "you've got to see this, follow me."

Intrigued, Yusuf went with him to the top of the steep hill at the foot of which they were encamped, hoping there was no new imminent danger. Nicolò's expression, however, was not worried, if anything he looked curious, amused even.

"What's that?" Nicolò asked pointing at a long wall of sand-colored stones, which surrounded what was undoubtedly the largest city they had encountered until then.

Yusuf opened his eyes wide in amazement.

"I think it's Almina' Al'azraq," he replied, "I didn't realize we were so far east."

By eye, Nicolò estimated the town was no more than a couple day's walk from where they were, maybe even less.

"We could make a stop," he suggested, “rest a little, maybe even eat at a proper table for once.”

Yusuf liked the prospect of proper rest and a proper table quite a lot, the city was close enough and if Nicolò was not in a hurry, Yusuf didn't have any reason to rush either. Then a sudden feeling of uneasiness creeped into his heart, it took him a while to understand what it was, but when he did Yusuf weighed Nicolò until he almost made the Genoan uncomfortable.

"Not a bad idea, but on one condition." Yusuf said.

Nicolò became quite suspicious and did nothing to hide the fact. He wasn't sure he liked to be imposed conditions, in the past he'd have pointed it out in no uncertain terms. Now things had changed, however, and he wanted them to keep changing, so he decided to at least listen to Yusuf.

“Which condition?” He asked in a neutral tone.

"If we enter that city we do it as equals." Yusuf said with his arms folded, almost as if he were on the defensive.

"Oh," Nicolò said. He hadn't really thought about the way they'd entered small towns and villages in the past, and only then he realized that maybe he should have.

"About that," he began.

Yusuf stopped him immediately. "No, don't" he said raising a hand.

Totally unsure of what that was going on, Nicolò argued, "don't what?"

"Don't say a word, please."

“What? Why? You don't even know what I'm going to say."

“Not the point. You opening your mouth means imminent danger half the time."

Nicolò eye rolled pretty hard, but he didn't have the time to say more because Yusuf kept on speaking almost hastily.

“You'll say something and you'll end up convincing me it's a good idea even if it's obviously not. And I admit that thing with the shackles worked at least to some extent, but then it became the recipe for a disaster, so this time I'm going to nip the problem in the bud."

At the end of that brief but effective speech Nicolò remained motionless, baffled, and just a bit lost. He didn't even know if he was supposed to find those words offensive or if he'd managed to make the other man vaguely hysterical somehow. Yet Yusuf had a small smile on his lips that made his expression almost soft despite his words, and had accompanied what Nicolò admitted was nothing more than a gentle scolding with a half exasperated, half affectionate look.

Eventually Nicolò couldn't hold back a small smile as well, even if he felt as if he had just swallowed something bitter. He knew exactly where Yusuf was coming from, and he couldn't blame him, that was exactly why he needed to make amends as soon as possible.

"This time you should let me speak, you'll like what I'm going to tell," he said.

"Really?"

"Really."

Yusuf pinched the bridge of his nose, then with an overdramatic sigh he conceded, "alright then, talk."

Nicolò turned serious again, almost to the point of making the other man worry, then looked at him straight in the eyes, as if he were about to face a difficult challenge. "I wanted to apologize, Yusuf, for many things, and for one in particular," he said, taking Yusuf completely by surprise.

Taking advantage of that involuntary pause, Nicolò continued, determined to swallow his pride once and for all to not leave things unfinished. “I should have done it a long time ago, actually. Better late than never, I guess."

Now Yusuf was even more confused. “What are you talking about?” He asked with a small frown.

Nicolò sighed. It wasn't as easy as he'd hoped, but then again Yusuf had apologized to him already, he couldn't let himself be outdone. "I pushed you to go against your principles, to do things you didn't want to do, and only because I wanted to speed up the journey. It won't happen again, it wasn't fair."

"Oh. Look, Nicolò, you don't need..."

“No, please, don't justify me. I've been selfish, I know this. Dragging you on this journey with me was selfish in the first place, so, well, I apologize."

Now Yusuf was truly speechless, even if he had a nice, warm feeling in his belly. "It's alright, really." Was all he could manage.

"You sure?"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure." And it really was, possibly for the first time since it all begun. Yusuf had never known, he'd never even imagined how much good Nicolò's apologies would've done to his battered soul. Actually, he hadn't even know that Nicolò had noticed he'd some principles, and that he'd gone against them. For him. He shouldn't even have cared what an infidel's opinion of him was, yet Yusuf cared, or at least he cared about the opinion of a friend. Not that he was proud of himself for how he'd dealt with the whole thing, still Nicolò's apology had come to lift a burden he'd forgotten he was carrying.

Yusuf would've been clearer on the topic, would've said out loud how much that gesture had meant, instead he could only stare. He felt like a perfect idiot, while making Nicolò self-conscious to the point the Genoan hastened to put an end to the whole conversation.

"Fine. Hum, thanks. Well then, let's go back," he said, then turned his back, directed to the camp.

Yusuf followed immediately, and since the silence soon became unbearably thick and awkward, he said, "I'm where I want to be."

Nicolò just nodded, not entirely convinced, yet unwilling to contradict him.

After a few seconds Yusuf added, in a much lighter tone, "and by the way you couldn't drag me anywhere if you tried."

Nicolò snorted so blatantly, with such an incredulous expression on his face that Yusuf couldn't help find it funny. He had to force himself to pretend to be affronted. “What?” He asked trying and failing to sound gruff.

“Nothing,” Nicolò shrugged. “I mean, whatever makes you sleep at night."

“Jerk.” Yusuf scoffed.

"Moron." Nicolò promptly answered. 

“Nadel.”

“Coglione.”

“Iktafi.”

By the time they reached their camp Yusuf and Nicolò had already learned a good deal of insults in each other's language, and were almost breathless with laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very quick, possibly inaccurate language lesson:
> 
> Nadel = bastard
> 
> Coglione = dick
> 
> Iktafi = fuck you


	8. Hope

The journey to the city was relatively short, and it passed even faster since the two travelers were so comfortable around each other that they felt free to really talk. Usually they took refuge in past memories, since the future was such an unknown factor for both of them that they preferred to avoid the subject altogether. Still, it was nice to have somebody with whom remember whatever they'd left behind. 

They were also free to share their enthusiasm at entering the first big city they'd met on their path. It was morning when they went through the main gate, the streets were full of life, colors, scents, it was a river port and like all ports it was full of people of all kinds. The arrival of two foreigners was no big deal at all, so Nicolò and Yusuf decided to find a comfortable place to spend the night first, and then go around to explore the place, for once without any hurry.

Too used to having to watch their backs, and be ready to whatever may happen, they chose a small inn not too far from the gate.

"What do you think?" Yusuf asked, pointing at the whitewashed building.

"Looks like it has a nice stable," Nicolò said, and he spoke so seriously that Yusuf almost choke on his own spit. A wave of remorse hit him, strong and sudden, but it didn't last long because while he was ready to kneel in front of Nicolò and beg for forgiveness in the middle of the road, Nicolò couldn't hold back a laugh.

Yusuf closed his eyes for a moment, mumbling something with a deep sigh of pure exasperation. Why did Nicolò have to be like that, and why did Yusuf have to find it so oddly amusing? 

He guessed that as far as divine retribution went, however, he'd been pretty lucky. "Fottiti" Yusuf said, too fondly for his own liking, but happy to at least be able to tell Nicolò to fuck off as the Genoan himself had taught him. Then, for good measure, he accompanied those word with a not too delicate push, while Nicolò was still grinning, all too satisfied. Albeit involuntarily, Yusuf put in a little too much strength in the act and Nicolò ended up bumping into an old lady who was passing by. He hastened to apologize, and Yusuf apologized with him, while the woman shook her head, grumbled something about _young people today_ , and went on her way.

"You're an idiot and your pronunciation is abysmal," Nicolò stated soon after.

"Must be because my teacher is the worst."

Thus, exchanging such pleasantries, the two men reached at the inn, left their horses and weapons there, and headed to the market.

Almost unconsciously, Yusuf kept his eyes constantly open so that no one would get too close to Nicolò. The city was peaceful, everybody went about their business without paying attention to them, and yet the memory of the last experience was still too vivid and painful that Yusuf was ready to stab whoever looked at Nicolò in a way he didn't like. 

At some point he realized that Nicolò was no longer following him, he turned around abruptly, but saw that the other man was just a few steps behind. Nicolò stood still, evidently focused on something beyond the short buildings that bordered the road.

“It's a Mosque. I mean, a huge one,” stated the Genoan when Yusuf got closer, pointing to a big, imposing white building that could be seen very well even from some distance. 

Yusuf smiled, "it's impressive" he said, and it really was, even for him. Until then they'd passed through small villages, none of which had had any kind of building of that size.

"Let's go and see it up close," Nicolò said.

“What? Now?”

Nicolò shurgged, “yes, why not? We'll visit the market later, or tomorrow."

"Sure, let's go," Yusuf said vaguely alarmed, because he'd reached the point where only a look and a word from Nicolò were enough to erase all his resistance. Not that he had anything against making a detour, or indulging the harmless curiosity of the other man. Yet the comparison with the early days in which contradicting Nicolò just for the sake of it had been Yusuf's not so guilty pleasure, was now more evident than ever.

When they arrived at the entrance to the Mosque something happened inside Yusuf. Nicolò was mesmerized by the white domes that stood out against the blu sky, by the countless arches intertwined with each other, and by the stones that shone so bright under the sun, that they blinded the sight. The wonder on his face made Yusuf's heart skip a beat, but before he could investigate that feeling further, Nicolò spoke.

"There is so much peace here," the Genoan said, then raised his face slightly and squinted, almost as if he was breathing that calm like a nice scent floating in the air.

"Yes," was all Yusuf could say. For a moment it was as if time had stopped flowing and there was nobody else in the world, just the two of them. He was content, perfectly, it was exactly as he had told Nicolò a couple of days before, after all: he was exactly where he wanted to be. Also, Yusuf had to admit that he'd missed the spirituality of a place like that, its sacredness, the comfort it gave him to be in a sense closer to his God. Then Nicolò started walking once again, and for the moment the enchantment dissolved.

They took their time to visit the Mosque, every now and then Yusuf explained the meaning of the writings painted in elegant swirls on the walls. Nicolò listened with genuine interest, all the while looking at Yusuf completely enraptured by the man, more than by the writings themselves. 

When it was time to go, Nicolò paused, and put an hand on Yusuf's arm. "Stay," he said with a small smile.

Yusuf was confused. He didn't know what the other man meant, and besides it rarely happened that Nicolò touched him voluntarily, at least when they weren't fighting, for real or for fun. “What do you mean?” He asked.

“Stay here, pray your God," Nicolò said kindly, his hand still lingering on Yusuf's arm.

Yusuf opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, then tried again. "It's not necessary, really."

“Maybe not, but I know you want to stay. I can take care of myself."

"As if I didn't know," Yusuf said recalling, absurdly almost affectionately, all the times in which Nicolò had killed or punched him.

Seeing that Yusuf still hesitated, but sure of what he'd seen in his deep dark eyes, Nicolò decided for him. "Well then, see you later at the inn," he said, and went away.

Yusuf no longer offered any resistance because Nicolò was right, he truly desired to stay a while to enjoy the serenity of that place and to pray as he hadn't been able to do for a long time. Perhaps, he thought, it wasn't strange that a priest could understand such a need, even if he worshipped another God. It was still comforting to know that Nicolò could read inside his soul with so much ease. It had been so long since Yusuf had met someone who could understand his needs and meet them with such ease, that he had almost forgotten how it was. Just that small gesture from Nicolò had made Yusuf feel less alone, and that was something not even the hardest men could do without forever. 

As he entered the Mosque again, Yusuf thought briefly that perhaps he'd miss Nicolò a little when he left for Italy. 

Once on his own, Nicolò wandered around the city without a destination, enjoying the quiet and sort of sleepy atmosphere of the more peripheral streets, only to suddenly find himself into the most animated, colorful and crowded market he'd ever seen.

He spent such a long time there, that at some point he thought it was too much; the sun was already setting off and he was quite hungry, but he just couldn't go away. At each stall he stopped by to browse the goods, to buy food, or to talk to the vendors. Everything tasted different, every color seemed more vibrant, when the world was not to be divided into friend and foe. Nicolò sighed, briefly wondering what was happening on the battlefield, and when the war would be over. He hadn't thought about it for quite a while, he'd been too focused on himself, but now he hoped with all his heart that that little corner of the world where he'd happened to be would soon become normal. The thought immediately reminded him of Yusuf, so he finally decided to go back.

When he was a few steps from the inn's entrance Nicolò felt a pull on the hem of his tunic. He lowered his gaze and met the golden eyes of a little girl with long unkempt hair sticking out of her veil. Nicolò estimated she was seven years old at the most, probably even younger, and was surprised to see that she was offering him a bundle of cloth, smiling shyly.

"Hi, who are you?" Nicolò asked kindly, returning her smile.

"This is for you" the little girl said blushing furiously, handing him the bundle.

Nicolò was surprised and flattered at the same time. "For me?" He asked crouching down in front of the girl. She nodded enthusiastically, but Nicolò wasn't sure whether to accept the gift or not, he was pretty sure that such a thing was not customary in that town as nowhere else in the world. However, he was curious and above all he didn't want to disappoint the girl, so he finally took the bundle, opened it and saw that it contained a simple loaf of bread. It was fresh and smelled fragrant, and made Nicolò's heart tighten. The girl was wearing something that resembled a rag more than a dress, her small feet where bare and she was thin as a reed, he couldn't exclude that she'd stolen that bread, he was sure instead that the girl would need it much more than himself, but he hated the idea of offending her.

Finally making up his mind, Nicolò accepted the gift, offering in exchange a handful of the dates he'd just bought at the market. 

The little girl shook her head, disappointed. Nicolò understood that she'd been taught not to accept food from the strangers, but he just couldn't let her go away empty-handed, and probably hungry.

"Listen," he told her standing up, "why don't we eat something together?" Then he sat down on a wooden bench leaning against the wall of the inn and waited for the girl who, though hesitant, eventually joined him.

"My name is Nicolò, what's yours?" He said when the girl was sitting comfortably. 

"I'm Amal," she offered.

Nicolò nodded, ate a date first, hoping that his new friend would feel tempted, and in fact the girl ended up giving in. When Nicolò offered her a fruit for the second time, she took it and ate with so much gusto that Nicolò felt bad for her. Surely he'd guessed right, that young girl knew hunger already.

They sat like that for some time, eating fruit and chatting, when someone they hadn't seen coming said, "can I sit with you?"

"Oh, here you are," Nicolò said, so obviously pleased to see Yusuf that the man, once again, felt a weird sensation in his stomach.

Unaware of the effect his gaze had aroused, Nicolò went on. "She is Amal" he said. "Amal, this is my friend Yusuf."

Absentmindedly, Yusuf introduced himself properly, but his mind was somewhere else. Such a strange day, that one. Nicolò, of all people, had just called him a friend, accompaning his words with the sweetest smile Yusuf had ever seen on his face. Of course they could no longer consider each other enemies, but hearing Nicolò said it out loud, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, had made Yusuf want to sit. And so he did, taking place on the bench on Amal's other side. Meanwhile the girl dangled her legs, looking at Yusuf with so much wonder and admiration that Nicolò found it funny and endearing, while he felt unusually proud.

The three of them spent some more time together sharing the food. Amal had completely forgotten her shyness and was now speaking at full speed. 

As the sun went down on the horizon, Yusuf leaned his head against the wall, watching the sky turn orange. He was so far from home, and for a brief moment he felt so homesick that he went dangerously close to cry. At the Mosque he'd prayed for the safety of his family, wishing them a long life, hoping they'd forget his _death _soon and go on with their lives. He truly just wanted them to be happy, but to know he'd be forgotten, to accept he'd never be back, at least not until so many years had gone by that his home town would be unrecognizable to his own eyes, was a disconcerting thought. Yet the melancholy that had just fallen on his heart contained also a tiny spark of something that could've been hope, if not true joy. Despite everything that moment, that single moment, was so absolutely perfect that Yusuf wished with all his heart that it'd last forever.__

__Beside him Nicolò also leaned his head against the wal. He was tired, but at peace with the world, and instead of looking at the stunning sky he chose to look at Yusuf, at his perfect profile, at his chest rising and falling to the soothing rhythm of his breathing. Always alert and vigilant, that time Yusuf didn't notice._ _

__

__"Amal!" A woman's voice suddenly broke the spell making the three friends start. The woman who had spoken came closer with her eyes wide open, almost as if she was terrified of something that only she could see._ _

__"Come on, hurry up, we must go home," she said urgently to the girl._ _

__Amal immediately jumped off the bench. "Good bye foreigners!" she exclaimed in her small, shrill voice, "thanks for the dates!" Then she ran to meet the woman._ _

__Before they could leave, Nicolò got up, took the bundle the girl had given him and tried to return it to the woman._ _

__"No, no!" She said with the same urgency. "Keep it." Nicolò didn't even have the time to thank her properly, because the woman walked away with quick, nervous steps, pulling Amal, who could hardly keep up, with her._ _

__"What just happened?" Yusuf asked approaching Nicolò, who was still in the middle of the road, quite perplexed._ _

__"Honestly, I don't have the faintest idea," Nicolò answered indeed. "Amal gave this to me," he said showing Yusuf the loaf. “I couldn't say no. Do you think that woman was his mother?"_ _

__Yusuf shrugged, "probably."_ _

__"She seemed frightened," Nicolò said, as if deep in thought._ _

__"Maybe she'd just lost the girl in the crowd," Yusuf commented, not very convinced, but since they were talking about just plain bread, and the woman had clearly told Nicolò that he could keep it, he decided not to overthink it. "Let's go inside," he said, and Nicolò followed him into the inn._ _

__The rest of the evening passed quietly. Yusuf listened as Nicolò described everything he'd seen at the market. It wasn't often that the Genoan was so talkative, and Yusuf liked it. He was perfectly happy to explain how that cake was made, or what that other fruit was._ _

__Eventually Nicolò went to sleep quite early, while Yusuf took his art supplies and worked in silence, calm and relaxed, until he couldn't keep his eyes open._ _


	9. Unspoken

The first morning at the inn, both Nicolò and Yusuf overslept shamelessly. To be able to rest in a safe, comfortable place had made them feel all the fatigue accumulated during their long journey.

It was Nicolò who woke up first, disturbed by strange dreams, when the sun was already turning to noon. Disoriented, at first, finding a ceiling over his head and a real bed under his back, he turned his gaze to the man still asleep on the bed next to his own, and a small smile appeared on his lips. He sat on the edge of the mattress for an unusually long time, looking at Yusuf who slept on his belly, with his muscular back in full display and a ray of sunshine that had fallen right at eye level. It was a sight to behold, in Nicolò's opinion, which tended decidedly to the unholy side of the spectrum, so he forced himself to look elsewhere, also because he suddenly realized that the sunlight would wake up Yusuf soon.

He hurried to get up, then, and get some fresh water to rinse his face and maybe even his thoughts.

Yusuf, in fact, woke up only shortly after, but at that point Nicolò had already recovered his composure.

As it was late they skipped breakfast and had lunch directly. After eating their fill, and talking about how they wanted to spend the day, implying that they'd spend it together, silence fell. After a short while Nicolò felt the other man's eyes on himself, and an unexpected heat invaded his belly. It was an unfamiliar sensation, quite unexplicable at that point. He'd already spent months alone with Yusuf, he'd long since gotten used to his presence, and indeed, by now he even found it pleasant. Eventually Nicolò looked away, fiddling with a knife and looking for a new topic of conversation, but the other man preceded him.

"Yesterday I went to the market, on the way back here," Yusuf said.

"Yes, you told me."

“I did.”

"And?" Nicolò asked, encouragingly. Yusuf seemed hesitant, and it wasn't like him. There was something he wasn't saying and even if nothing portended catastrophes, all the misadventures occurred up to then had left a thin veil of pessimism on Nicolò's mind.

Eventually Yusuf took courage, retrieved a small object from his pocket and gave it to Nicolò. "Here," he said simply.

It took Nicolò a few moments to react. Yusuf was holding a thin black lace from which hung a small cross of perfectly polished wood.

"You... You bought it for me? " Nicolò asked, as he felt his cheeks turn to fire.

Yusuf shrugged, suddenly too self-conscious for comfort, reminded himself to keep his cool because why not and then spoke. "That was the idea, actually, but they're out of crosses, apparently, so I had to make one myself. And I know it's not the same, you were so fond of the one you had before, I know that, but I thought it was important to you, as a symbol I mean, and so... Not that I pretend to replace the one you lost, of course.” Eventually, Yusuf decided that he was making such a poor job of keeping his cool that it'd be advisable to just shut up, and so he did, hoping that he'd not overstepped some boundaries, somehow.

Nicolò, who was staring at Yusuf as if he'd sprouted a second head, wasn't of much help.

The Genoan, in fact, was completely speechless, but he'd noticed that Yusuf, who was always self-confident, and never short of words, this time needed help. Nicolò found it endearing for countless reasons, and decided that the least he could do for the man, after that gift that was worth so much that Nicolò couldn't even explain it with words, was to get him out of trouble.

"Thank you, Yusuf, really," he muttered, taking the cross, stoically ignoring the _spark_ when his fingers brushed Yusuf's ones, and putting it around his neck. In that same instant Nicolò decided that even if he lived till doomsday, he'd never part from it. He also mentally cursed his utter inability with words, especially in circumstances like that, which left him with a racing heart and a thousand confused thoughts. Actually, Nicolò thought secondly, a circumstance like that had never occurred to him. Lately, when he was with Yusuf he often felt like he was traveling without a direction, which was a paradox considering that Yusuf himself was supposed to be his guide. Still, it all was intriguing, because it was frightening as much as it was exciting. Pity, however, that now the wonderful warmth enveloping his heart clashed with the knowledge he was totally incapable of handling the situation.

Burning his tunic hadn't been so difficult, Nicolò had long since stopped identifying with all that it represented, but losing his little cross had broken his heart. That tiny fragment of memory had been all he'd left of the people he'd cared for, and would never see again; it had also given him strength in moments of weakness, and faith in moments of doubt. He'd made Nicolò feel safe, during the long sleepless nights, when he'd been alone and desperate in the company of a man with whom he shared only mutual hatred. And now that very man, the one Nicolò had begun to respect and trust, the man who would have had every right to detest the main symbol of Christianity, had recreated it from nothing. With his own hands. Just for Nicolò, leaving him with a huge lump in his throat and the knowledge that Yusuf deserved much more than three words stammered in a low voice.

"You're welcome, it's nothing," Yusuf said anyway, with a little warm smile, when he realized that Nicolò wouldn't say more. There was no need for words, after all, when the gratitude shone so bright in Nicolò's incredible eyes. Then, since Yusuf's heart was still beating too fast, he sought refuge in his usual good-natured irony. "Well, yesterday you took care of my soul, I'm just returning the favor." He said.

Nicolò smiled back, a little more at ease as well, "it's literally my job to take care of people souls." 

"Even a Muslim's soul?" Yusuf said with a raised eyebrow and a tentative smile. He hoped it wasn't too much too soon. It was still a sensitive issue, that one, perhaps it would be forever, still it was nice to know that they could talk about everything without jumping to each other's throats.

Despite this Nicolò apparently gave the question the consideration it deserved and his answer came out honest and spontaneous. "After all, why not?" He said while a veil of melancholy fell on his eyes. If only he'd reached that conclusion earlier...

Yusuf shrugged, "I guess we're supposed to convert each other, or something like that?"

"Probably, but I like you the way you are." Nicolò had spoken without thinking, then winced at his own words. He hadn't been able to thank Yusuf properly, and now he was coming up with something dramatically more awkward. The surprise he saw on the other man's face was the coup de grâce. Nicolò would have paid gold to be swallowed up by the floor, or to simply be a thousand miles away, instead he was confined in room which hadn't looked so small until a few minutes before, with Yusuf himself, who apparently had stopped breathing.  
It had been a while since the last time Nicolò had regretted his inability to die. "I mean, as a friend," he added, knowing too well that he was just digging his own grave. The things Yusuf had told him a few days earlier rung now truer than ever: _you opening your mouth means imminent danger half the time._

For lack of better options, Nicolò eventually said, "I'm still hungry." It wasn't a particularly brilliant idea, and it was also a blatant lie, since he actually felt as if he'd swallowed a brick. As if the whole situation wasn't already making him feel like a clumsy schoolboy, instead of the brave knight he was supposed to be. Anyway at that point dignity was just a vague memory, and he was willing to eat the cutlery if it got him out of that mess. He got up and took the loaf of bread he'd gotten from Amal the day before, then started to cut it nervously.

"Nicolò," Yusuf tried when he too had recovered at least just enough to be able to line up a few words without stammering. He didn't even get that far, though, because there was only one thing in his mind:

_I like you the way you are_.

_I like you_.

_I like you_ too.

"Do you want some bread?" Nicolò said instead, sensing the danger and begging God that Yusuf would take pity and drop the subject. _Later_ , he thought as he continued to sink the knife into the bread almost angrily, later it'd take a genuinely serious consideration on what the heck was going on in his head, but for now Nicolò just needed a decent diversion.

Yusuf, meanwhile, politely refused the food, but Nicolò didn't even hear him. He went on punishing the loaf of bread until apparently God took pity on his ineptitude, or even on the bread itself. "Wait, there's something..." Nicolò said in fact, when the knife hit something unusually hard.

"What?" Yusuf asked when he realized that Nicolò wasn't trying to run away from the conversation. "What's that?" He asked again, astonished. Nicolò had just found a small round object inside the loaf and was cleaning it of the crumbs.

"I've no idea," Nicolò frowned, looking even more astonished at what turned out to be a silver ring. It was such an odd occurrence that he'd almost forgotten the previous incident.

"May I see it?" Yusuf asked, then he took the ring and studied it closely. He concluded that due to its weight and perfect workmanship, it was no ordinary object, "it must be worth a lot," he stated.

"I knew it," Nicolò sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I knew there was something going on.”

“Do you think it's stolen? And how did it end up in there?"

Nicolò shook his head, he was at a loss. “Did you see the poor girl's dress? She couldn't have possibly had food to give to a stranger, and her mother was behaving strangely as well."

"Then we have to find them if we want to understand what's going on."

"You're right, let's go.”

On the threshold Yusuf stopped abruptly, “Nicolò, hang on.”

Nicolò started, surely Yusuf didn't want to go back to what he'd said earlier, did he? It'd have been horrible, mostly because Nicolò still had no explanations even for himself.

Fortunately for him, Yusuf wanted it quite a lot, but he recognized that it wasn't the right moment. “Yesterday at the market someone followed me,” he said indeed. "I thought he was a common thief and I lost him in the crowd."

"Do you think the two things are related?"

"I don't know, maybe." Then Yusuf's eyes widened, as if he was struck by a sudden revelation. “Damn!” He swore.

"What?" Nicolò asked, even more worried. Yusuf didn't swear often.

“One of the fake merchants run away, and I let him go." Yusuf admitted.

Just remembering that dreadful night Nicolò clenched his fists and turned pale, "do you think it was him?"

“I don't know, it'd make sense. This is the only real city within miles and miles." Yusuf said, and it occurred to him that the bandits had mentioned a brothel large enough to attract people from all over the region. Such a place couldn't have been found in a village. He refused to repeat that hideous detail out loud, but it only reinforced his theory. "I shouldn't have let him get away, I'm sorry," he sighed.

"Yusuf, it's not your fault,” Nicolò said adamantly, because it was true. “Let's find Amal, maybe it's nothing."

That theory sounded very unconvincing even to Nicolò himself, but they still went out looking for their young friend, since they didn't have any other lead. It wasn't easy, though, first they asked people who lived nearby and who had probably seen them sitting on the bench with Amal, but no one knew anything, apparently.

Some of them lied shamelessly, but neither Yusuf nor Nicolò wanted to resort to threats, or worse still, to violence. They found an old man willing to talk, eventually, when they tried with money.

"That little girl is the daughter of a dead man," the guy said without elaborating further. “Her mother lives with her brats in a dump near the Eastern Gate. As far as I know they live on charity." That was all they could get him to say, but for now it was enough.

Finding the Eastern Gate was simple, finding the house was a bit more complicated as that was obviously the poorest part of the city, and all the houses looked similarly battered. Eventually, however, Yusuf and Nicolò spotted two little children playing in the dust with a stray dog. They were twins, and had the same golden eyes as Amal, so with all possible kindness Yusuf asked them where their mother was.

One of the children pointed to a small house not far away, which was really little more than a hut, and there Yusuf and Nicolò headed. The door looked so shabby that Yusuf thought it safer to knock on the wall. A few instant later the same woman who had come to take Amal the day before came to the threshold.

When she realized who was in front of her, she covered her mouth with one hand so as not to scream, then took a few steps back, while Yusuf and Nicolò looked at each other completely astonished, and even more confused than before.

“Please,” Yusuf said, “don't be scared, we just want to talk.”

The woman shook her head, more and more terrified, so Yusuf fished the ring from his pocket and showed it to her, still standing in the doorway. "We found this ring, maybe you lost it kneading the bread?"

She shook her head again, but from the look on her face Yusuf knew she was lying, still something was obviously wrong. How could a woman who lived on charity, in a small dark room, possess such a jewel? Had she stolen it, after all?

Before he could say more, Yusuf felt something quite heavy hit his leg.

“Yusuf, hi!"

He looked down at the same time as Nicolò, and found himself face to face with Amal, who was hugging his legs, smiling brightly up at him. Then without letting go, the girl turned her head to greet Nicolò too, evidently happy to see them both again.

"Good morning young lady," Nicolò replied immediately, making her giggle and blush, while Yusuf stroke her head with a warm smile, but her mother addressed her with a stern tone that certainly came from fear and not from nastiness.

"Amal, come inside," she said, obviously nervous.

"But mom, they're my friends," the little girl pouted.

"Come inside, now!" The woman repeated firmly, albeit not unkindly. Disappointed and sulky, Amal had to let go of Yusuf to obey her mother who, as soon as she had her daughter within reach, pulled her behind herself as if she meant to shield the girl.

Yusuf, then, tried again, "please, we don't want to cause you trouble, we're just two travelers, we only want to return this ring. Maybe you can help us?"

"I don't know anything about your shady business, go away!"

"Are you two friends of that man?" The girl asked peeking out from behind her mother's legs.

"Amal!" The woman scolded.

"Which man?" Yusuf asked.

"The one who gave me the bread,” Amal said as if it was obvious. “He told me to give it to Nicolò or you, because he was your friend and in exchange he gave me a coin for my mum and some figs for my little brothers."

All that didn't clarify the matter very much, but when Nicolò and Yusuf saw the woman closing her eyes, and two big tears running down her cheeks, they knew they couldn't let it go.

"What's your name?" Yusuf asked her again, softly.

Resigned at last, the woman replied "Sadira."

“I am Yusuf Al Kaysani, he is Nicolò di Genova. We are not here to hurt you, Sadira, I swear. Please let us in."

The woman sighed, but finally invited the two men in. "Amal, please make some tea," she told her daughter. The little girl, thrilled to be of help and to have her friends for tea, immediately went to work as the three adults sat on small, unstable stools around a shabby table.

"I didn't know anything about that ring, I swear," the woman hastened to say.

"We're not here to accuse you of anything, Sadira," Nicolò reassured her immediately, "we just want to understand."

"I'm sorry, but unfortunately I don't think I can help you," Sadira replied honestly. “Hussein gave Amal some money to give you that loaf. I thought it was just plain bread and as you can see I'm in no position to refuse money. Actually, I'm in no position to refuse that man anything."

"We understand, Sadira, really," Nicolò assured her. “Just tell us who Hussein is and where we can find him. We'll clarify this incident with him. "

"Incident." The woman said shaking her head with a bitter smile. "I don't know where you came from and why you are here, but if Hussein is involved it's not an incident and you won't be able to clarify anything."

"Tell us who he is, please." Yusuf asked.

While Amal brought the tea and sat down between her friends, the woman spoke.

“When I was born this city was ruled by a just and wise man, who made it rich, safe and happy. Then unfortunately he got old and sick.” Sadira paused at that, as if lost in thoughts. “His son was just like him, a good man." She sighed.

"You know, Nicolò," Amal interjected, as she left her stool to climb his lap, "my dad was tall, handsome and strong, he looked a lot like Yusuf."

“Amal, don't bother our guests” Sadira said with a fond, tired smile.

“Oh no, I don't mind,” Nicolò said helping the girl to sit on his legs, "I bet you're right," he then said to Amal, looking briefly at Yusuf, who for once was the one to blush.

_I like you the way you are_ Yusuf thought, then he also thought it was really hot in that little house and perhaps it was better to hurry. Besides, it surely wasn't the time for such things. Sadly he already imagined how that story would end.

"I guess Hussein is your brother-in-law?" He asked looking back at Sadira.

"Close enough" She said. "He is the governor's nephew, and the cousin of the rightful heir, my late husband."

"And he took his place illicitly." Yusuf ended up for her. There was no need to specify how Amal's father had died, and she probably already knew.

“Not officially yet, but yes. The governor is still alive, actually, but he is very sick, and he no longer rules anything, while his nephew Hussein acts as if he owns the entire city. He bought the guards with his uncle's money, he surrounds himself with all kinds of scum, he lets them threaten the traders and the merchants. They even have the audacity to attack the caravans traveling this route and in fact the traders are starting to avoid this city altogether. I bet the port will be abandoned soon as well. This place is condemned to death." As she spoke Sadira's voice trembled more and more with anger.

“I guess there are no other heirs," Nicolò said.

"Exactly. I was pregnant with the twins when it all happened, that's the only reason why we're... you know.” The meaning of her words was all too clear. She was lucky to be alive, and surely if she tried to oppose Hussein, her children would pay the consequences.

"You've seen this ring before, right? It was yours." Yusuf said placing the jewel on the table.

Intrigued, Amal took it and tried it on, but it was too big for her, so she lost interest and put it down.

"Yes, I had to leave it behind with all my other things." Sadira said.

Yusuf and Nicolò exchanged a meaningful glance, then Yusuf stated, "Sadira, maybe we can help you."

"No! Somebody tried already, it never ends well. You'd only make things worse for yourselves. I don't know what business you have with Hussein, or why he set this trap for you, but as long as you can you should leave."

"Too late!" Boomed a voice in the doorway. Sadira jumped up and ran to get her daughter, then hurried her out of a small window, urging the girls to take her little brothers and run away. Amal protested briefly, but eventually obeyed, and the guards let her go as children were of no value to them. Meanwhile, Nicolò and Yusuf also got up.

"It's him?" Nicolò asked in his own language.

"Yes," Yusuf replied, quite annoyed. The man on the doorway was the one whose life he'd unfortunately spared. Now, surrounded by six of his guards, the guy had the audacity to look insufferably smug, as if he hadn't run away like a coward just a few days before, leaving his _friends_ to die.

"These are the thieves, get them!" Hussein said, and the guards entered the small house surrounding Yusuf and Nicolò.

"That's not true, they aren't thieves!" Sadira hastened to say, knowing full well how useful it'd be.

"Shut up, bitch, or I'll have you and what's left of your pathetic family arrested as accomplices!" Hussein growled. "Look, here is the stolen goods," he also said when he noticed the ring on the table.

"Give it back, it's mine!" Sadira said, unable to restrain herself.

“So, does that mean you took it? Eh, Sadira?" Hussein replied with a cynical, condescending smile. "You know how thieves are punished in this city."

Sadira hesitated, but only for a moment. "That ring was already mine and you know it, liar!" This time she spoke with such aggression that Hussein took a step back, which unfortunately made one the guards sneer, and consequently anger him even more.

Hussein wasn't there for Sadira, although he had no sympathy for her, but he couldn't tolerate being treated like this, in front of his guards, and moreover by a woman. "As you wish," he said with a cruel glare, then turned to the guards and ordered, "brand this woman as a thief."

Sadira didn't regret her words, yet she couldn't hold back a near silent whimper, but Nicolò, calmly, stood between her and Hussein.

"No." The Genoan said simply, under Yusuf's uncertain gaze.

"How dare you address me like this, slave?" Hussein growled.

The past few days had been so close to happiness that Nicolò had almost forgotten how and why that awful man still had to belie that he was Yusuf's servant. Nicolò didn't care anymore, though. He no longer doubted Yusuf, he'd never doubt him again and anyway he had to take care of Sadira.

"I stole that ring, so you'll mark me." He stated firmly.

"Nicolò," Yusuf said, alarmed. He didn't want Sadira to pay for something she hadn't done, but he couldn't bear the idea of seeing Nicolò suffer. Even if no mark would stay on his skin for longer than a few minutes, the pain would be real and excruciating.

Nicolò, however, didn't answer him. All his attention was on Hussein, who now looked taken aback. Evidently he hadn't expected anything like that, and for a moment he just stood there, speechless, so Nicolò got closer, and in a voice hardly higher than a whisper, he said “after all, you're here for this, aren't you? Not for the woman. I know it and you know it too."

Hussein wasn't frightened by those eyes the color of the stormy sea, or so he liked to believe. After all, he was safe in his own city, protected by his guards. Nobody would dare stand up to him there, right? Especially not two men stupid enough to put themselves on the line for a beggar and her useless brats. He concluded that he didn't care much about Sadira, after all, and he could always come back for her later. Right now, instead, he wanted to avenge the death of his companions, and putting a mark on that infidel was just the beginning.

“Very well,” he said eventually, but Yusuf interrupted him. "It won't be necessary," he said. "We'll come with you, we will clear up this incident." Yusuf's tone was calm and collected, but inside he already anticipated the moment when he'd pass that criminal and his henchmen from side to side with his scimitar, because sooner rather than later, that was just how it was going to end.

"Sure! Let's go and clarify the incident," Hussein said with a sarcastic, nervous laugh, then he grabbed Yusuf by the arm and pushed him out, while the guards gave Nicolò the same treatment.

As soon as they were out, Hussein hissed in Yusuf's ear "don't try anything stupid, you and your stupid slave, if you want these beggars to live."

Yusuf didn't say a word for Sadira and her children's sake, he wasn't even surprised that a man like Hussein resorted to blackmail, yet knowing that Hussein still believed Nicolò a slave filled him with the same blind rage he'd felt the first time at the cave.

Things were different now, though. Yusuf would not repeat the same mistakes again, no one would hurt Nicolò, not even Nicolò himself. Of this, he was as sure as night turns to day.


	10. Revelations

Yusuf and Nicolò still didn't know the city well enough to remember every street, but they were pretty sure that to go from Sadira's house to the low hill where sat the governor's one, it wasn't necessary to pass right through the main square. Hussein evidently wanted to make the detour just to show the two prisoners around and strengthen his power. Apparently he still needed a valid reason to arrest people and that explained why he'd bothered to set up a trap for them. It was clear that common people didn't love him, though, they just feared him, or at least they feared the weapons of his lackeys.

Perhaps it wasn't too late.

As they passed by people moved out of the way and lowered their gaze, which reinforced in Nicolò and Yusuf the certainty that the usurper abused his power regularly. The will to free the city where they'd felt so welcome grew stronger by the minute.

Since they hadn't expected any form of fair treatment, they weren't surprised to be taken to a wet and cramped dungeon, right behind the governor's house. However, instead of being immediately thrown into a cell, Yusuf and Nicolò were taken to a large, windowless room lit by torches on the wall.

"Bring the brazier and the branding irons," Hussein ordered, as he looked mockingly at the prisoners. From his point of view, of course, it was all a sadistic game.

Nicolò, on the other hand, clenched his jaw and forced himself not to say a single word. The time to right the wrongs would come, but now patience was needed. He didn't regret his choice, anyway. The scar would disappear in a short time and later, together with Yusuf, he'd find a way to get rid of Hussein and his minions so maybe Amal, her brothers, and the whole city would have a better future. It'd be worth it, even if it was going to be excruciatingly painful, in this Nicolò had already found his peace.

A few moments later two men returned carrying a large lit brazier with some long red-hot irons on it, which ended with an intricate symbol that Nicolò couldn't read.

He prayed to God to give him the strength to endure the pain without giving those disgusting men any satisfaction. He found solace in the thought that he deserved it, after all, for the evil he'd caused in His name. He'd gladly offer that penance to the Lord, and the subtle caress of the wooden cross made by Yusuf gave him all the courage he needed.

Something happened though, that Nicolò had not foreseen at all, to upset his plans and to shake the inner calm so laboriously achieved. The instant the guards fixed the brazier Yusuf stepped forward, and without any hesitation said "if this man is mine then I am responsible for his actions."

For Nicolò that sentence was a cold shower without the need for further explanation. "Yusuf no!" He said, with the only result that the guards grabbed his arms more firmly, fearing that he might try something.

Hussein ignored him and turned to Yusuf, narrowing his eyes. "What do you mean?" He asked impatiently.

"You'll leave him alone, you will mark me in his stead," Yusuf replied with an expression so fierce it challenged anyone to contradict him, even Nicolò himself.

For the Genoan, who had already anticipated what Yusuf was going to say, those words came like a slap in the face just the same. This simply could not happen. Not to Yusuf. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Nicolò had been so sure, at peace, in the knowledge that no innocent would pay for Hussein's wickedness and instead his own plan had just been turned against him in the worst way possible. By is only friend, his only ally, by a man whose courage and generosity Nicolò knew he'd never be able to repay or match. 

"Yusuf, don't!" The Genoan said through clenched teeth, feeling his inner calm slip away like sand between the fingers. He tried to free himself, but the guards held him too tightly and his efforts only served to provoke their coarse sneers. Behind his back somebody laughed crassly and said "how cute, he's in love with his master!"

A stab in the stomach would have left Nicolò less stunned. His eyes widened as his breath died in his throat. He stood still as he was, leaning towards Yusuf yet unable to reach him, while the guards restrained him. Nicolò could still meet Yusuf's gaze, though, who had turn abruptly towards him at those words, and who now looked completely astonished as well.

Who said what, in the following moments, Nicolò never knew. Everything fell upon him at once, a myriad of blurred memories crowded into his mind, fogging his thoughts. The day he'd helped Yusuf with the arrow, and how difficult it had been to simply hold his gaze. How painful Yusuf's words, and his long silences, had been right after Karim's death. Then the good-natured teasing came, together with the laughters, the childish jokes, and the thrill, as Yusuf had brushed his jaw the day they'd fought for the apple. Nicolò hadn't forgotten that day yet, just as he would never forget the night he'd cried in Yusuf's arms, feeling safe again for the first time after so long, as he'd feared he'd never be again. And how far away it seemed, now, that very morning, when Yusuf had given him the little cross and Nicolò's only problem had been to stop acting like a schoolboy at his first crush.

Except that _crush_ wasn't the right word, it didn't even remotely start to cover it. Nicolò had just understood, in that very moment, what love was. He'd been allowed to know it only through the verses of the poets. He knew affection, empathy, pity, as there had been people, in his life, he had really cared for. He also knew physical attraction and lust, he'd experienced them a few times, and he'd chosen to repress those feelings as something impure when he'd decided once and for all to dedicate his life to sacred love. But never, in his whole life, had Nicolò met someone like Yusuf. A man who could make his world stop spinning with just a single glance of his wonderful, intense dark eyes. Never had he met a man who could evoke such strong, absolute, scary feelings. To understand his own heart had suddenly become complicated, for Nicolò, it was almost insulting that a stupid guard, instead, had succeeded so easily.

With all his might, Nicolò hoped that the man was wrong. That couldn't possibly be love. After all that remark was meant as joke, wasn't it? And Yusuf had looked at him obviously dumbfounded. He too had to find the idea ridiculous, if not downright repulsive. They were two men, a Christian and a Muslim, enemies in every corner of the world other than the bubble they had lived in until then, the two of them alone, far from everyone, far from the real world. Their friendship, still so young and fragile, was a miracle in itself and that, at least, Nicolò wanted to keep.

The thud of the backhand with which Hussein had just hit Yusuf brought Nicolò back to the present. Once again he tried to rebel, unsuccessfully, as a guttural, almost ferocious sound escaped his throat. He had no idea what Yusuf might have said to provoke such a reaction, but certainly Hussein was furious and Nicolò couldn't do a single thing to placate him. For that vile man, after all, punishing, hurting, killing, Yusuf or Nicolò, or both, made no difference. He wanted blood and revenge, and could get them easily enough. In fact, Hussein turned to Nicolò with a malevolent grin and said, "enjoy the show, Frank, just do it in silence or it'll be worse."

That said, he ordered the guards to make Yusuf kneel, while Nicolò closed his eyes without even realizing it. That small relief wasn't meant to last long, though, one of the guards grabbed a handful of his loose hair and pulled cruelly, forcing him to raise his face. "Look," the man hissed in his ear, and a shiver of disgust ran down Nicolò's back, but he obeyed anyway.

"Don't touch me, you scum," Yusuf said meanwhile, slapping away the hand of the guard who had tried to make him kneel.

"It'll be alright, Nicolò, don't worry," Yusuf also added, then knelt down with studied slowness, without taking his piercing gaze from Hussein's face even for a moment. Neither the confidence in Yusuf's voice, nor the pride in his stance, were enough to reassure Nicolò, but they certainly infuriated their tormentor further.

"I've already wasted too much time with you, sodomite!" Hussein said, in fact, then took one of the irons from the brazier, while one of his lackeys tore off Yusuf's tunic to uncover his chest. An instant later Hussein pressed the red-hot iron into Yusuf's amber skin, where the chest met the shoulder.

Yusuf gritted his teeth, tried his best not to bend, to stay still, but it was just too much. Eventually he couldn't hold back a cry of pure agony, the pain was blinding and erased any other thought, let alone any reminiscence of pride.

Like hyenas sniffing the blood, the guards laughed, while Hussein kept on pushing the iron mercilessly, deeper than necessary, and Nicolò, unable to restrain himself, tried to wriggle out of their grasp once again, with so much force that another guard had to intervene to keep him at bay. He punched Nicolò in the gut making him gasp and taste bile, his eyes, however, were still on Yusuf and Yusuf only, on his body bent over in pain, on his beautiful face contracted in a grimace of pain while one hand grabbed like a claw at the injured shoulder, as if it could rip the pain away, the moment Hussein decided he'd had enough.  
Finally.

Still with the iron in his hand, Hussein turned to Nicolò with a sneer. "Trust me, I have big plans for you too, but for now I've got more important things to do," he growled. "Bring this rabid dogs to the cell," he then ordered his henchmen, obnoxiously pleased with himself.

As absurd as it was, that was the first good news. No one had to see the speed with which Yusuf's wound healed, and besides Nicolò needed to be with him. Alone.

The guards obeyed quickly and the two prisoners were led into a small cramped cell with a single square window, set too high for anyone to look out. They left soon enough and once alone, Nicolò had to force himself to behave rationally; it was all over, Yusuf would be fine, and right now he needed him. Nicolò helped his friend to sit with his back against the wall, then knelt beside him.

“You're such a fool, such a fool Yusuf! Why did you do that?" He asked in a trembling voice.

"It was the only sensible thing to do" Yusuf say in a coarse voice, trying to be reassuring, but it was evident that he wasn't succeeding, not yet. The mark on his skin was already fading, taking the pain away, but his forehead was beaded with sweat and his chest rose and fell to the rhythm of his labored breathing. Nicolò had no way of alleviating his suffering and he knew it, so he did the only thing he could do: he took Yusuf's hand in his own, lifted it slowly and brought it to his lips so that he could gently kiss the knuckles. "You shouldn't have, you shouldn't have," he repeated like a mantra. The fear, the anguish, the despair were so evident in his voice that Yusuf felt a pang in his chest. "It's alright, Nicolò, I'll be fine," he said with a small, fond smile.

Nicolò shook his head, it wasn't alright. Yusuf didn't deserve to suffer like that, he didn't deserve to suffer at all. "Why did you do that?" He asked again, in a small voice. He just couldn't understand.

"No more pain, remember?" Yusuf said simply, because, really, there was nothing else to say.

Kneeling in front of him, with his head bowed like a penitent, Nicolò remembered the day he'd said those same words to Yusuf. It was different now, though. Back then he'd done close to nothing and surely he hadn't took upon himself Yusuf's pain. He only barely found the courage to look up at the wound, which was healing fast. That still hardly believable prodigy was at least a little comfort.

"You didn't deserve it, Yusuf," Nicolò eventually said more to himself than to the other man.

"Neither did you," Yusuf replied as a matter of fact, then cupped the nape of Nicolò's neck and gently pulled him towards himself, until their foreheads collided in a brief, light bump. They both took comfort in that small gesture, but again Nicolò shook his head, unable to say anything. That silent answer, however, unsettled Yusuf. Did Nicolò really think he deserved such a thing? There were so many issues to discuss, so many things he wanted to say on that topic and many others, but the pain had left his body boneless and his mind fogged.

"Do you want to rest for a while?" Nicolò asked as if on cue.

Yusuf nodded, he was beyond exhausted.

"Here, lie down," Nicolò said, sitting next to him and helping him to lie down on his side so that he could use his legs as a pillow.

"Will you watch over me?" Yusuf asked.

“Of course.”

“Thanks,” Yusuf said, relieved.

Nicolò looked up at the ceiling, swallowing his tears. It was all so incredible. Yusuf was incredible. The audacity with which he faced everything, his unwavering courage, the speed and confidence with which he had sacrificed himself for Nicolò, as if he had not doubted even for a single moment that it was the right thing to do.

Nicolò looked down again and watched him rest for a while. He had to admit that taking his eyes off Yusuf's handsome face was becoming more and more difficult. Those high cheekbones, the perfection of every feature, that hair that looked so soft. It was going to be difficult to be his friend and nothing more, but Nicolò was now willing to make every sacrifice for Yusuf, and maybe, just maybe, if he left, things would become easier. With a small sigh, and needing every ounce of comfort he could find for them both, Nicolò raised his hand to stroke Yusuf's hair. He hadn't even realized what he was doing until Yusuf tapped his knee, as if to get his attention.  
"Stop it," he said, without opening his eyes.  
Nicolò blushed to the tip of his ears, "I'm not doing anything," he half lied, because even if he hadn't moved yet, there were actually _things_ he'd done in his mind.

"I can hear you brooding, I can't sleep." Yusuf said, but the irony in his voice was evident.

Relieved, Nicolò huffed a small, affectionate laugh. Despite everything Yusuf was still the same. "Sorry, princess." He answered with an exhausted smile.

Yusuf smiled in turn, wearily, but said nothing more, still bent on resting. Yet he found out soon enough that sleep was eluding him. He tried his best to relax and just stop thinking, but a thousand thoughts crowded into his mind. He focused on finding a way to get out of that prison and free the city of its usurpers. He also hoped that in the meantime Sadira and her family would be left alone, but as he reasoned about those things, slowly, Yusuf began to realize that he was just dancing around the main problem.

Taking him by surprise, Nicolò's thin, agile fingers began to slowly stroke Yusuf's hair. Almost hesitant, at first, those fingers eventually picked up a steady rhythm and Yusuf couldn't hold back a small satisfied moan. Maybe Nicolò had sensed his restlessness, and his touch was actually soothing to the point of being hypnotic.

Only then did Yusuf actually notice that he was lying with his head on the legs of the man who used to sleep so far away from him that, back then, he'd found it ridiculous and irritating at the same time. They had come a long way together, and pretty quickly. Yusuf had to wonder if, maybe, they were going too fast, and possibly towars a disaster.

And that, finally, was the main problem.

There were too many things Yusuf wanted to tell Nicolò, things too long avoided by them both, things they'd tiptoed around as if hoping they'd just disappear if ignored long enough. That, of course, wasn't going to happen, they had to face that challenge as any other, and Yusuf knew it was probably up to him to do the first move, Nicolò had never been too fond of words anyway. He also knew he shouldn't procrastinate that conversation any further because it was as healthy as letting a wound fester. There was one thing Yusuf needed to do first, though, and that was reading into his own heart. Sadly, that seemed to be the hardest part.

The guard's words, and the obvious turmoil they had caused in Nicolò, had ended up opening a door that Yusuf had kept closed, more or less involuntarily, until then. And together with it, an abyss of fears he'd avoided facing until then, had opened up as well.

The days between the fight with the fake merchants and that morning had been among the best Yusuf remembered since he'd left his home to go to war, but now he knew he'd been naive to consider the feeling bounding him to Nicolò as a simple friendship, when just a touch of the Genoan's hand was able to send shivers down his spine. It'd been fun, but it couldn't go on like that forever. Sooner or later Yusuf had to deal with reality and reality was that while there was so much more, buried under layers and layers of denial, he and Nicolò together, in any form, were a possible recipe for a disaster.

Nicolò was an amazing person, an extraordinary man. The purity of his heart had amazed Yusuf more than once, together with his generosity and his absurd, painful certainty to deserve all the evil that happened to him. However, Nicolò was also a crusader arrived in those lands with an army. Yusuf could no longer hate him as he'd done before, nor did he want to, and Nicolò's religious faith had nothing to do with it. Still, no one could simply decide to ignore the past, even when the future was meant to last forever.

Slowly, Yusuf opened his eyes, Nicolò's hand had stopped moving, the Genoan had fallen asleep, which was sort of relieving. Nicolò had always had an uncanny capacity of reading into his soul, but for the time being Yusuf needed to keep those thoughts for himself. He owned Nicolò a clear answer, if ever he managed to find one, even if Nicolò hadn't asked anything yet.

Although he'd always been a man who knew who he was, where he came from, and what was right or wrong, now Yusuf found himself lost. He knew that one day those moments, and the war itself, would become just faded memories. Hopefully, sooner or later their people would be at peace, or at least not openly hostile, until then, though, Yusuf wondered if it was right to betray everything he'd fought for, for a man who had been one of the very reason he'd been called to fight. A man who, in any case, would soon leave.

It wasn't the first time Yusuf had to wonder what would happen once Nicolò returned to his people. He'd gone from looking forward to it, to fear the moment and its consequences. Would Nicolò go back to hate him in order to be accepted among his own? Nicolò was brave, but loneliness could make even a steadfast heart falter. Yusuf knew it first hand.

In any case Yusuf would be left behind, with a broken heart, a whole eternity of regrets waiting for him, and the burden of being a traitor of his own people to top it all. When his life had become such a painful contradiction? Rationality told him that perhaps it was time to grow up, to accept that that whole journey, and the last few days in particular, had been just a long dream, and like all dreams it was bound to end. It'd probably have been fairer for Nicolò too, in the long run.

Rationality alone, however, wasn't always enough.

Yusuf sat up, his muscles were too tense now to even hope to sleep. It was dark outside and Nicolò slept so deeply he hadn't noticed him moving. For a while Yusuf stared at him in silence. He looked so innocent, and he was not, as painful as it was for Yusuf to admit it. He also looked so oblivious to what his _friend_ was thinking of him.

Yusuf felt guilty all of a sudden. Nicolò wasn't responsible for all the evil in the world and Yusuf certainly didn't consider himself without sin. At the very least to think that Nicolò would go back to hate him was monumentally unfair, but it was hard, sometimes, to silence the fear. And fear was whispering in his ear that it couldn't possibly work.

In the dim light of a dying torch Yusuf raised his hand, as if looking for the traces of the kiss that Nicolò had put there earlier. He found nothing, of course, yet the light, warm touch of the other man's lips was still in Yusuf's memories and would stay there forever.

The very thought of parting with him made Yusuf sick, and wrung his heart in a cruel, painful grip. Finally, exhausted and without a solution, he leaned back against the wall, resigned to waiting for the dawn. Maybe the guards would come to bring food and water. Maybe, once out of that cell, he'd see the whole mess under a different light.

Yusuf spent the following hours praying that, in his immense mercy, Allah would show him the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I broke the record of how many times I rewrote scenes, dialogues and thoughts with this chapter. I'm posting it more out of exhaustion than out of conviction. I still hope you don't hate me too much for the angst, I guess my hand slipped :P


	11. Full moon night

The floor of the cell was particularly hard, to the point that Yusuf, despite having slept outdoors on the ground so many times he had lost count, had to get up to stretch his sore muscles and knotted joints.

The cell was small, longer than it was wide, and he could only take a few steps back and forth, but when he looked up to the small window he saw a full moon, bright and perfectly round, framed by the window. It was so beautiful it looked like a piece of art hanging on the wall, and its sight alone made Yusuf feel a little better. All his haunting thoughts already seemed a little less depressing, all his doubts a little less impossible to solve. He knew he was naïve to think that maybe, if he could just remember all the beautiful things that were in the world, everything would be easier, but he could at least enjoy a small moment of peace.

His cellmate also looked as peaceful as he could be. When Yusuf lowered his gaze he saw Nicolò sleeping indeed, albeit uncomfortably, still sitting in the same position.

What caught Yusuf completely off guard was the silvery blade of light shining on the Genoan's face. For a moment it was almost as if looking at him for the very first time. With his loose hair framing his perfectly relaxed face, and his fair skin shining with pearlescent light, Nicolò looked like a creature from another world.

Whether he had come to torment or save him, Yusuf didn't know yet, but Nicolò was beautiful, indeed, as if out of a dream, to the point that for a moment Yusuf was afraid to even breath, and see him disappear.

Nicolò didn't disappear, of course, but he slowly opened his eyes, liquid silver in the moonlight, and gave Yusuf a small, tired smile. He clearly wasn't entirely awake yet, and Yusuf had to close his own eyes for a moment, trying to ignore the sting behind his lids.

Nicolò's eyes, his tiny smile, were sharp knives piercing his heart. So beautiful, so full of love and so unaware of it all, in that moment he looked almost scary to Yusuf who, still full of doubts as he was, wondered if he'd ever be able to give him back what he truly deserved.

Yusuf still didn't know what he wanted for himself, or at least he wasn't ready to admit it, the only thing he knew was what he didn't want.

 _Don't leave, please,_ he begged in his mind. And he knew it'd have been horribly selfish, to keep Nicolò away from his home, from his land, if he wasn't absolutely sure to be ready to give him a reason to stay. Yet, if he stopped to think, Yusuf simply couldn't figure out how to go on without him by his side.

At that point Yusuf wondered if he wasn't simply rising the wrong doubts: love itself, after all, was the answer not the question. Then Nicolò spoke, his voice hoarse from sleep, and distracted him from those intricate thoughts.

"Are you alright?” The Genoan asked, sitting straighter, “how do you feel?"

"I'm fine” Yusuf said, even if it wasn't entirely true. Physically, he felt pretty good, the pain of the mark was by now just an awful memory, but he was confused as never before, and as never before, terrified. “I didn't mean to wake you up, sorry," he also said sitting next to Nicolò once again. Luckily the Genoan wasn't lucid enough yet to ask him what he was doing standing in the middle of the night and staring.

"You didn't wake me," Nicolò replied instead. “I had a dream. It was strange. And this cell is very uncomfortable."

"It is, and the service is horrible as well, neither food nor water, but the view is not bad." Yusuf stated, trying to joke to ease the tension. More aware by the minute, Nicolò was now looking at him in a way that just didn't help.

As if forcing himself to look elsewhere, Nicolò followed Yusuf's gaze and noticed the moon. It surely was a sight to behold, which left him almost speechless.

"Meravigliosa" Nicolò eventually said, mostly to himself.

"Meravigliosa?" Yusuf repeated, as if he was testing those foreign syllables one by one, on the tip of his tongue "it means beautiful?"

"Yes, but more" Nicolò said smiling at his friend's still stunted pronunciation, and aware that he was throwing away an excellent opportunity to make fun of him. But he was still too sleepy for those things and deep down he didn't know if he could still afford to joke with Yusuf as he had done until then. Not when they both knew that, despite all his best efforts, Nicolò wasn't tied to him by mere friendship, and not that moment in particular, when there was definitely something going on, even if Nicolò wasn't able to put his finger on it.

Something in that silvery light, in the almost magical atmosphere of that night, was stirring something inside them both. They knew it, they felt it, they could almost read it in each other's face.

Yusuf, in fact, was now looking at Nicolò with an unusual intensity, silent and graceful as a tiger, and equally hungry, as he moved to get closer, leaning on one knee. Simply too exhausted to think any longer, Yusuf had finally chosen to be weak just for once, turn his brain off for a while, and let his instinct decide.

"I think I understand," Yusuf said, "meravigliosa is like..." instead of completing the sentence, he raised his hand and slipped his fingers through Nicolò's disheveled locks.

Nicolò looked at him speechless, almost petrified, while his cheeks caught fire and his heart beat madly. It wasn't fair, how could he be a good friend, and nothing more, when Yusuf looked at him like that? When he stroked his hair so tenderly? When he treated him like he was something precious? Wasn't Yusuf supposed to be at least upset to know that his so-called friend was actually in love with him?

“Don't be silly, Yusuf” Nicolò said somberly, but didn't turn the other man away, he couldn't. Something was about to happen, something that until then he hadn't even dared to dream. It was possibly going to be very painful, in the long run, but Nicolò needed it now. Besides, Yusuf would never take advantage of it, of him, like that, would he? Yusuf, _his_ Yusuf, was a good man with a big heart, and Nicolò had already promised himself he'd trust him.

Indeed, Yusuf could never have even thought of taking advantage of the revelation regarding Nicolò's feelings. Actually, at the time he wasn't thinking at all, not when he dared to slide his hand on Nicolò's cheek, stroking the unshaven jaw, and not while caressing the smooth skin just below the eye with his thumb. "Your eyes, Nicolò. Your eyes are meravigliosa” Yusuf said then, his voice unsteady due to the overwhelming emotions.

Nicolò tensed visibly, he should've pointed out that his language had genders and numbers, but it'd have been monumentally anticlimactic and besides he'd to take care of his heart, first, which was about to explode in his chest. "Yusuf …" he tried, but couldn't say more, so he gently grabbed Yusuf's wrist, not to remove that blissfully warm hand, but to be able to lean in that soft caress further.

With his heart beating so loud he couldn't even hear his own doubts anymore, Yusuf asked in a husky voice "do you know what else his meravigliosa, Nicolò?"

Nicolò could only shake his head, at that point he needed all his energy to keep himself (and failing) from shaking.

"These" Yusuf whispered brushing the other man's lips with his fingertips, so lightly that he hardly even touched them. Then he shifted again, sat on his heels and leaned forward to give Nicolò the lightest, tiniest kiss on the lips. They were warm, like coming home after a long ride in a cold night, and felt so soft, even if Nicolò was undoubtedly tense; he clearly wasn't used to that kind of affection, or even proximity, and Yusuf couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for him. How lonely had been his life? And why? Nicolò deserved to be kissed silly, to be hold tight, to be loved again an again, and to know all the nice things he hadn't had yet.

For the moment, however, Yusuf needed to be sure that Nicolò wanted that kiss. He leaned back to study the Genoan's reaction, to try to understand if he had made a terrible mistake, or even if he was about to get punched in the face, Nicolò knew how to be treacherous, sometimes. What Yusuf saw in his friend's eyes was a mixture of uncertainty, fear, surprise, but also endless sweetness and desire, and in fact it was Nicolò himself the one to make the next movie, when he cupped the nape of Yusuf's neck to bring him close and kiss him again. He shyly brushed Yusuf's tongue with his own, his uncertainty tasted so sweet on Yusuf's lips it almost made the man want to cry, Nicolò's tentative clumsiness made everything even softer and Yusuf knew that even if he died in that instant, even if he never again had a single moment of joy in all eternity, he'd still be grateful for that single, perfect moment. Nicolò, the same man capable of slaughtering enemies with a powerful swipe of his sword, the same man who could freeze people with a single glance, the same man who once had killed Yusuf himself, was now kissing him as if he were savoring a delicious, exotic fruit, slowly, as if he was experimenting with himself, surely fearing he might make a mistake, but still eager, and there wasn't a single thing Yusuf would've changed in that kiss. Ever.

If only he'd been able to tell Nicolò all the things he hadn't had the courage to say to himself, that night would've been perfect.

But Yusuf couldn't talk, and the kiss had to break off, because immortal or not, they both needed to breathe. Once again, sadly, reality demanded attention. They both looked up into each other's eyes, unsure, doubtful, as if wondering, _what will become of us now?_

Unable to find an answer, Nicolò placed a hand on Yusuf's bare chest, right where he could feel his heart beating. “This, Yusuf,” he said, “this is meraviglioso too,” and Yusuf found himself with such a huge lump in his throat that he decided that for one night it had to be enough. What he felt for Nicolò was immense and beautiful, but also scary, and anyway none of the many things that could happen, for good or bad, had to take place in that filthy, dark cell.

It was good that Nicolò didn't seem ready for more either. "Yusuf, there is one important thing I want to ask you," the Genoan said removing his hand. He looked serious, almost wary, but Yusuf nodded, there was a whole book of things he wanted to say, to ask, to explain, as well.

"Not here, not tonight, please." Nicolò said also, as if reading the other man's mind.

Yusuf nodded. Not now and not there, but _soon_ , they'd waited far too long already. Hopefully, when the time finally came, he'd have cleared his mind once and for all. "Let's get out of here, let's put the Governor back in his place, then we'll talk,” Yusuf said, resolute.

"The Governor is very old," Nicolò stated, happy to be able to change the subject. The kiss had been nothing short of wonderful, but also overwhelming, especially since it had come so unexpected. The way Yusuf had looked at him after the guard's crude joke had more or less placed a tombstone on Nicolò's feelings, even before he'd had the chance to express them, or so the Genoan had thought. Now everything was different once again and Nicolò was struggling to keep the pace. He still had an important request, though, which could completely change their lives, and he couldn't help but fear Yusuf's answer, so it was better not to dwell on it too much.

"His heir is young and wise, though," Yusuf went on.

"Sadira?"

"If she wants. She'd have every right to take her husband's place."

"I'm sure she'd be a blessing for the whole town," Nicolò said with a small smile. They didn't really know the woman, and besides it wasn't for them to decide for her, of course, but he liked the idea quite a lot.

For a while longer they sat close together, with their shoulders brushing, then just when the silence was about to get awkward, Nicolò's stomach rumbled loudly and they both let out a little liberating laugh.

"God, I'm hungry," Nicolò said with sheepish laugh. At least that wasn't even remotely embarrassing as it'd have been if he'd kept on thinking about the kiss, or the taste of Yusuf's lips, and how his beard had tickled his neck. Nicolò's traitorous body was starting to react to the memory in a very improper way.

"Maybe they'll bring us something to eat for breakfast," Yusuf shrugged. He was hungry as well, and thirsty too. It'd been a while since the last time they'd had to worry about water, but given their current predicament, it could become a problem.

"Maybe" said Nicolò, not very convinced, and unfortunately he was right.

Nobody came for several hours. It was early afternoon, or so it seemed judging by the light, when Yusuf, now incensed, called for the guards, not very kindly, and so long that his voice became hoarse. Eventually he managed to get someone's attention.

When one of the henchmen deigned to come and see what all the fuss was about, Nicolò sat against the wall and let Yusuf deal with him, it was clear that he needed to vent a bit. Yet Nicolò was starting to worry that Hussein meant to drag his game for a long time, and that just couldn't do. Nicolò was in a hurry to make him pay for the pain he'd inflicted on Yusuf, but also to give that city back to his people, and to finally be able to tell Yusuf all the things he couldn't keep inside any longer.

Apparently, however, the guard found the idea to starve them to death funny. If only he knew...

"For your boss to execute us we have to stay alive, right?" Nicolò finally said, looking insistently at the guard, as if he'd spotted something interesting on him. The man, unnerved by the way Nicolò was staring, told him off, but Nicolò's calm and rational reasoning seemed to soothe Yusuf somehow.

"At least bring us some water, so maybe you can torture us a little longer." Yusuf finally said, huffing.

"If I feel like it," the guard answered, then left, but both Yusuf and Nicolò had the feeling that the guy was going to give in to their request.

"So, what's the plan?" Yusuf asked, once they were alone again, because he could tell Nicolò was up to something.

"He has the keys.”

“He does, and yet something tells me he won't simply give them to us.”

Nicolò smiled his small, affectionate smile reserved for Yusuf when he stated the obvious, “when he comes back, leave him to me," he said.

"As you like," Yusuf answered, now amused. Maybe they wouldn't get out of that cell that day, but at least he'd have some entertainment.

After long enough for the prisoners not to think he was at their command, the guard actually came back with a large jug of water. Nicolò got up slowly, getting closer to the bars, while Yusuf instead leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.

"Here's your water," said the henchman sneering, as the jug was evidently too large to pass between the bars.

Nicolò didn't rise to the bait, he only gave the guy an impenetrable look that left the man puzzled, if he'd been expecting to hear the prisoners beg he was in for a disappointment. Piqued just for that, or simply out of malice, the man grinned cruelly, spat in the water, and said to Nicolò, “I'm told people like you swallow pretty much everything.”

He was so blatantly pleased with his own vulgar joke that Yusuf felt like smashing his face and to hell with the water, he even came closer with a menacing frown, but Nicolò hold up a hand and shook his head to signal him to stop, which Yusuf did.

“Who is whose pet, here?” The guard said. "Damn, you're both disgusting,” he also added when his question went ignored. Then, as if he'd had enough of that game already, he finally got closer to the bars. “Come and get your water, Frank, and if you're very good maybe later I'll feed you something as well." He said with an eloquent smirk.

The _euphemism_ didn't go unnoticed, Yusuf felt his blood boil clenched his jaw and forced himself to stay silent. Nicolò's thoughts weren't different, but still cool as ice, as if completely unaffected by those insinuations, he put his hands through the bars to take the jug. A moment before the guard let it go, Nicolò grabbed him by the wrists and pulled towards himself, so violently and quickly that the man banged his head against the iron bars and fell to the ground, unconscious, with his nose bleeding profusely.

Nicolò squatted down to keep the man pinned to the ground just in case, while Yusuf was stunned as well, but out of awe, and far too pleased to see that hateful, disgusting man bleed. Treacherous, Nicolò, of course. "Nice trick!" Yusuf said honestly impressed, ignoring the warmth in his belly. It just wasn't the right time.

"He asked for it" Nicolò answered, and he wasn't even joking.

"Yes yes, you're right. Remind me never to contradict you."

Nicolò huffed a small laugh, then raised his head as if expecting something. Looking at that open smile and those bright eyes, not for the first time Yusuf felt his knees turning to jelly. He was that close to kiss Nicolò again, but once again, it wasn't the right moment.

“Yusuf?” Nicolò said after a few moments of that impasse.

“Yes, Nicolò?”

"Please take the keys," the Genoan said, lowering his gaze once again, because Yusuf was staring at him in a very peculiar way. Also, the butterflies in his stomach at the sight of Yusuf's chest, still bare under the torn tunic, together with the recent memory of the warmth of his skin under his hand, were as wonderful as they were ill-timed.

"Yes. Sure." Yusuf said, then pulled the body of the unconscious guard so that he could reach the large ring from which the keys hung. He hoped that in doing so he could hide his blush, but the most important thing was that finally they were free.

 _Soon_ was now one step closer. Soon also meant that maybe Yusuf wouldn't get the time to grow nervous about what Nicolò intended to ask him.

Both Nicolò and Yusuf agreed to lock the henchman in the cell because despite everything neither of them wanted to kill a man while he was unconscious. Nicolò took the guy's dagger, though, because he feared he'd need it soon enough, then lead the way to a lit room. That had to be where the guards passed their time, but right now it was empty. There was a rusty scimitar, in a corner, which had to belong to the man they'd left in the cell. Nicolò gladly left it to Yusuf, since he was obviously more expert with that kind of weapon.

The prison was smaller than it'd looked like initially, they didn't need to wander much before finding the exit, a short and narrow entrance hall where four men were smoking and wasting time right where a clear line separated the still sunny courtyard from the shaded entrance. The outside light dazzled the eyes, which didn't help. Nicolò said in a low voice, "we need at least one of them alive."

Yusuf nodded, then whistled to get the guards' attention. By now four against two meant a fight already won and in fact it was all very fast and, at least for Nicolò and Yusuf, quite painless.

Three of the henchmen lay lifeless on the ground soon enough, the fourth was first forced to throw down his weapons, then to explain in detail how to enter the Governor's house without attracting attention, and above all where Hussein most likely was. Then he too was locked up in the cell where the first guard still lay unconscious.

"If you lied to us we'll be back," declared Nicolò with a martial air that terrified the guard, but had a completely different effect on Yusuf.

As they run back towards the exit, Nicolò felt Yusuf's fiery gaze like a warm hand on his skin, and it was as good as it was unsettling.

He couldn't afford to lose focus right now, neither could Yusuf, but they needed to hurry, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My job gets in the way but I'm still here, immensely grateful to those who still follow this story and a bit sad because we are slowly getting close to the the end...


	12. The dawn of a new day

The information Yusuf and Nicolò got from the guard turned out to be surprisingly accurate, so they could enter the Governor's house quite easily, through the kitchen, where they also managed to quench their thirst and grab a piece of bread, under the astonished gaze of the cook and her assistant.

Further down the hall, Yusuf surprised a servant by coming up behind him and putting a hand over his mouth. "We won't hurt you," he whispered in his ear, pulling the distraught man behind a wall, while Nicolò looked around to check that there was no one else.

"Where is Hussein?" Yusuf asked. The man raised a shaking hand and pointed to closed double doors, which, judging by the size and luxury with which it was decorated, had to lead to a hall, or something like that.

"I'll let you go, but you'll not scream and you'll not call the guards, alright?" Yusuf said. The man hastened to nod, still unable to speak, and when Yusuf let him go, he ran away as if he had a pack of wolves at his heels.

The two intruders headed for the door trying not to make noise, but out of nowhere three guards launched themselves on them. Nicolò had only a dagger to defend himself with, but he used it effectively enough to get rid of one of the attackers, while Yusuf, with his scimitar, took out the other two without problems. It was a quick fight, but not a silent one, so their presence was now known throughout the house.

On the other side of the door, in fact, hurried footsteps were heard, then the doors were thrown open by Hussein himself who barely had time to yell "what the fuck is going on!" before realizing who was in front of him, turn pale and run away under the stunned gaze of one of his henchmen.

Yusuf eyerolled blatantly, his patience for worthless men like that had always been very limited. In doing so he got an affectionate smile from Nicolò, who, however, immediately turned serious again and went out in the garden with the intention of going around the house and block Hussein's escape. Indeed, the man intended to escape through the large glass door that opened onto the garden, but Nicolò was fast, so Hussein found himself face to face with the pointy tip of the Genoan's knife when he'd taken only a few steps outside.

Turning around quickly, Hussein saw the only one of his henchmen who was with him at that moment falling to the ground, mortally wounded by Yusuf.

"What should I do with you now? You tell me," Nicolò hissed with a feral expression that took away from the man any will to insult and threaten, and left even Yusuf puzzled. Knowing that Nicolò was angry on his behalf in a sense warmed his heart, but at times Yusuf found it hard to remember who Nicolò was, and he didn't know if it was a good thing. Anyway he bolted the door and walked over to the other two.

"Nicolò?" He asked doubtfully, since despite his harsh words, Nicolò apparently didn't intend to kill Hussein.

Without lowering the knife or looking away, Nicolò spoke, but his tone had become decidedly softer. "Yusuf, I know you have every right to want this man dead, but I think it would be right if Sadira decided his fate."

"That bitch?" Hussein screamed. Apparently he'd recovered already, and was so outraged he was almost comical. Yusuf, however, didn't feel too inclined to laugh, especially since that vile man had the audacity to insult a woman whose life he'd ruined so ruthlessly. In any case, Nicolò was right, Sadira had paid a much higher price and it was only right that she'd at least be involved. Yusuf then grabbed Hussein by the arm, forced him to sit on the ground next to a huge and heavy table, while Nicolò tore apart a curtain with his knife. Those pieces of cloth were used as ropes, to tie the man's hands behind his back and secure him to the table's leg.

"I'm going to get Sadira," Nicolò declared when he was sure that Hussein couldn't try anything.

Yusuf nodded. "Be careful," he said, even though he knew it was superfluous. Nicolò answered with a small smile.

“Tsk, you are disgusting! You are half men!" Mumbled Hussein, now furious enough to lose all instinct for self-preservation. Nicolò, who had already turned to leave, stopped in his tracks and came back. Hussein started, ready to beg for mercy, but the Genoan didn't even look at him, instead he reached Yusuf, took his face with both hands and kissed him.

Yusuf smiled in that kiss, pleasantly surprised, and returned it greedily; the cry of disgust from Hussein only made it better.

Unfortunately, however, there was no time to waste. "I'll be back soon," Nicolò said and finally went away.

Alone with Hussein, Yusuf gave him a cold and stern look challenging him to say even a single word against Nicolò. Crushed by the weight of that unforgiving gaze, the man fell silent, but the peace wasn't meant to last.

"You and the Frank are against nature," Hussein hissed after a while, unable to keep his mouth shut. Yusuf didn't respond to the provocation, but something inside him happened, because Hussein was a good for nothing thug, but his opinion, unfortunately, was the same of many others, and both he and Nicolò would have to deal with it, if that feeling blossoming so inexorably between them grew into something real.

"Is it really worth it?" Hussein dared to say, by now he was like a dog with his bone. "He is an infidel, an enemy, an invader. You'll betray your own people and what for? A man who sooner or later will return home and forget that you exist?"

"Be quiet, I'm not interested in your ravings!" Yusuf growled, clutching the hilt of his scimitar nervously. He knew he shouldn't let himself be provoked, but a freezing cold had come over him, even though he was sure that Hussein didn't even know how accurately he'd guessed his worst fear. Yusuf dreaded neither the judgment of the people, nor his own conscience, or at least he was willing to live with it, but loneliness scared him, and so did the possibility that Nicolò, once home, would end up forgetting him. That was something that could still happen, Yusuf couldn't simply choose to ignore it.

"Don't get me wrong, I know every now and then a man needs to let himself go," Hussein continued, as confusion and doubt were now evident in Yusuf's eyes. “It's not like I don't have my own vices, it's just that, you see, we need to be discreet, we cannot simply flaunt them around or there could be consequences. I know it sucks, but I don't make the rules. Now, if you set me free I can get you gorgeous women, experienced young men, and help you satisfy pretty much any whim. No ties, no obligations, no problems."

And it was the condescending tone of his voice, the implicit insult in thinking that Yusuf was a low life like him, or the more explicit one in considering Nicolò an obligation or a problem, but in the end Yusuf decided he wasn't bound to listen to Hussein's raving any longer.

When Nicolò returned, followed by an incredulous and confused Sadira, he found Hussein tied as he had left him, only with more cloth in and around his mouth than around his wrists. Yusuf, for his part, had a grim look that was sort of alarming, although the man was evidently relieved to see him again.

"Everything good?" Nicolò asked, Yusuf nodded, but the way Sadira was now looking at Hussein shifted all the attention to her and the prisoner. The woman looked scary, her fury barely restrained as she asked “where is the Governor? The real one?"

Hussein mumbled something incomprehensible, impatiently Sadira lowered his gag to allow him to speak. “He's fine, I swear! He is in his bed, I arranged for his old servants to look after him,” Hussein spluttered. Sadira put the gag back on his mouth as soon as she could, then was lost in thought for a while.

Along the way Nicolò had hurriedly explained everything to her, but she still found it hard to grasp the enormity of what was happening. In the end, however, a decision had to be taken. She turned back to Hussein, looking down on him, “if what you told me is true, if my father-in-law is well, you will live. You will go through a trial and spend the rest of your life in jail, but you will live. Otherwise, you will die today.”

Hussein protested and squirmed, but no one paid any attention to him.

"Go, see if he's telling the truth," Yusuf said urgently. He couldn't wait for everything to be over, he wanted Hussein in jail, if he just couldn't have him in a coffin, but he also wanted to be alone with Nicolò, because if the words of that disgusting man had somehow made his own fears more real, seeing Nicolò again had made his heart flutter marvelously.

When Sadira walked quickly out of the room Nicolò went with her in case there was danger, but he gave Yusuf one last, doubtful look. Something was wrong, and Nicolò couldn't help worry.

However, none of the remaining servants in the house felt the slightest loyalty, trust or esteem towards Hussein, so when they realized what was going on, they were all incredibly relieved and helpful.

The old Governor was actually in bed, not in his old room, which Hussein had taken for himself, but in a much smaller and simpler one. He was still fine, however his age and his illness allowed, and next to him were his most trustworthy servants. Apparently Hussein hadn't had the courage to kill the old man. When the Governor recognized Sadira he suddenly seemed a few years younger. The two wept together and Nicolò waited outside, to leave them that moment.

Some time later Sadira came out of the room with her eyes still shining, and hugged Nicolò tightly. That simple gesture made him feel a little better, it was nice to know he was still capable of doing some good, but his thoughts kept returning to Yusuf.

The following hours didn't allow anyone even a moment of respite. Both Yusuf and Nicolò gave Sadira all the help they could with what there was to do: bring her children home so they could meet their grandfather, imprison Hussein, and organize everything so that Sadira was recognized as soon as possible as the regent, and right hand of the still living Governor.

The whole night had passed when finally there was nothing urgent to do and Sadira, thanking her saviors over and over, declared that Yusuf and Nicolò would be her guests in the big house for as long as they wanted to stay. The two gladly accepted, after all since they had arrived in the city they had only had a few hours of peace.

"I'm going to the inn to get the horses and our things," declared Nicolò. He hoped not to have to use his sword for a while but he'd missed it until then.

He'd been out for a few minutes, alone, with a bad feeling dampening the joy of the victory of that day, when he heard hurried footsteps coming after him.

"I'm coming with you," Yusuf said, and Nicolò already felt as if he was breathing better.

They made the trip to the inn keeping strictly on non-personal topics, but even in that, even in their constant looking at each other and then away soon after, there were many many words.

In their room, while they gathered their belongings from the table, Nicolò had a small moment of nostalgia remembering the moment when Yusuf had given him the cross. It had been one of the happiest, more awkward moments of his life. In that very instant Yusuf gently grabbed his arm, and when Nicolò turned and found himself eye to eye with the other man, he understood that Yusuf was lulling himself into the same sweet memory. The intensity in his beautiful dark eyes was almost frightening, in the kiss that came immediately after, however, there was nothing at all to fear. Yusuf's lips, already familiar as an ancient caress, brushed Nicolò's ones almost as if asking for permission, but Nicolò wanted nothing more than being kissed again and again. Especially now, Yusuf's lips tasted like the hope of a future together.

"Nicolò..." Yusuf moaned while his kisses become much deeper and ravenous. In his warm, low voice there was a prayer and a plea for forgiveness, and it took Nicolò a few moments to realize it was because Yusuf had pushed him backward against the door, and his cock, swollen and hard, was now firmly pressed against Nicolò's hip. Overwhelmed by his own desire, Nicolò immediately overcame the surprise, and any possible embarrassment. Instead of pushing Yusuf away he clung to him, letting his instinct take the lead. “Please Yusuf, more” he said shamelessly, he could tell by the look in Yusuf's face that he'd been taken by surprise by the reaction of his own body, but Nicolò's words dissolved all his doubts.

Yusuf shifted so that their erections were pressed against each other, and with that simple gesture he made the heat in Nicolò's belly spread throughout his whole body. For the Genoan the sensation was alien and at the same time intoxicating; a fleeting thought reminded him of _sin,_ of _immorality_ , but he discarded it immediately. How could he possibly have one coherent thought anyway, when Yusuf was squeezing his buttocks tightly to get them both more of that delicious friction? Nicolò winced in surprise, then once again begged for more, not wanting Yusuf to think even for a moment he was going too fast.

Lust and desire were so evident in his eyes that annihilated every single one of Yusuf's remaining fear. Between urgent kisses and soft words he made Nicolò turn around and undid the laces of his pants. Nicolò gladly let him do whatever he pleased, he didn't even know what his body truly needed, but there was an urge consuming him, and he even let go a frustrated moan when Yusuf grabbed his hips, to make him stop pushing against his groin.

“Not here, not like that” Yusuf said in his husky tone. Nicolò understood, by now he knew enough to know that Yusuf probably wanted fluffy pillows and silky sheets, fine incense and a soft mattress, which wasn't bad at all, in fact Nicolò smiled fondly to himself. He wanted those things too, he was looking forward to them, he wanted to take his time to touch and feel and look, and when that time came he wanted to go slowly because everything was new to him, but right now there was a fire in his body that needed to be extinguished, so he put his hands on the door, trusting Yusuf to somehow give them both what they needed.

Grateful to have Nicolò's complete trust, Yusuf undid his own pants as well and finally grabbed Nicolò's erection, made slippery by a few pearly drops, whispering in his ear, “hayati, please, close your legs.”

Nicolò jerked at the contact, it felt so good already he feared he'd pass out. He knew how things worked, theoretically, but living the moment was far beyond any expectation. He did as he'd been told, and did his best to stay still when he felt Yusuf's hard cock press against his ass, then slid downward, in the almost nonexistent space between his thighs. It felt almost too raw, with only a few drops of precum as a lubricant, but the friction against his balls, while his cock got impossibly hard in Yusuf's skilled hand, made Nicolò just want to feel more. Yusuf too was already too far gone to truly notice it wasn't actually entirely comfortable, it was a bit too raw and dry, but he still kept on pushing, while panting hot breath against Nicolò's ear. It was all fast, frantic, urgent, and both men came shortly after rutting against each other like two animals in heat, stifling their moans as best as they could. Yusuf reached his climax first, kissing Nicolò's neck and jaw, while Nicolò came a few instant after in Yusuf's hand, then rested his head against the rough surface of the wooden door, looking at their spent on the floor, almost incredulous of what had just happened.

"Was it too much?" Yusuf asked, holding him tight, still out of breath.

“No, oh God no, I wanted you so much,” Nicolò replied hastily, turning his face to kiss the other man.

There was still some water left in a bucket so they could clean themselves with a rug and fix their clothes. When they were done Yusuf kissed Nicolò's forehead, while the aftermath of his powerful orgasm left room for more coherent thoughts. What would have been difficult before was now completely impossible: letting Nicolò go, parting with him. Maybe he could accompany him to Italy? The question didn't come, however, because the answer was terrifying.

Nicolò, on the other hand, was still processing the fact that he'd just had sex, with another man, and with one in particular. A man who now looked more beautiful than ever, so that the words he'd kept inside for too long finally came out of his mouth of their own volition, "I don't want to leave.”

Yusuf's eyes widened, and he stopped breathing. He could hardly believe what he'd just heard, and he didn't want to delude himself. "What does it mean?" He asked swallowing.

Nicolò took the other man's hands in his own, as if could draw from them the courage to speak, "remember when I said I had something to ask you?"

Yusuf nodded, wary.

"Yusuf, I've thought about it for a long time. I know I have no right, but if you let me, if you want, I'd like to stay. Please?”

Yusuf was more and more astonished, that morning was only becoming more surreal by the minute. Why on earth did Nicolò think he had to ask for his permission, to begin with? "We've traveled miles and miles, you wanted to go home," he said anyway, disoriented and needing to make sure he got it right.

Nicolò misinterpreted those words, though, because he immediately lowered his eyes and a small furrow appeared between his eyebrows. “I know, I dragged you on this trip for nothing, I'm sorry."

Yusuf hated himself and the fact that the other man wasn't looking at him in equal measure. "No, wait, I just don't understand... Why?"

Nicolò gave him an uncertain look. Did Yusuf really not understand? Was it only lust what was in there for him? Had he already been satisfied even though they had hardly done anything? It wasn't possible, not when his kisses, his eyes, his hands were so soft and gentle. Not when he looked at Nicolò as if he was something precious. Nicolò knew he was not very experienced at relationships, but not up to that point. “I'd stay for you," he stated simply, then he sighed, as if he had just fought a tough battle and lost. He went to take his bag, but Yusuf moved fast as a snake and grabbed him by the wrist.

Nicolò turned slowly, the weight of the sleepless night had fallen on him all at once and he felt exhausted. Besides, he'd foreseen it the first time Yusuf had kissed him, that in the long run he'd have ended up suffering. He'd ignored his own warning and now he couldn't blame the other man, in fact he didn't. What followed, however, was not at all what Nicolò was expecting.

"I want you to stay," Yusuf said, without letting him go. They were both too insecure, too scared, and it was time for a change. “Nicolò, I want to stay with you for as long as Allah will grant me to live. I want to dedicate to you my every breath, every beat of my heart, even if the whole world should hate us for it, even if our Gods should punish us, because I love you as I never thought possible to love someone, but this scares me just as much as the idea of spending even one day without you by my side. I think I've only really understood it now." Yusuf finished his speech with his heart beating fast, while Nicolò looked at him in total disbelief, with his eyes shining and a storm raging in his heart.

He too thought all those things, but he couldn't say them, much less at that moment, when he was completely overwhelmed by his own feelings. But the hands of Yusuf, of _his_ Yusuf were shaking, and it just wouldn't do. He took them in his own again and said "I know it won't always be easy, but I love you, I love you so much, Yusuf."

Yusuf buried his face in the Genoan's neck, then, while Nicolò let go of his hands so that he could hold him and gently stroke his curly hair. They both needed a moment to tell themselves it was all truly happening.  
After a few moments Yusuf slowly raised his head, he wanted nothing more than to be with Nicolò forever, but didn't want him to regret it, one day. “What about your parish, Nicolò? Your people? Your family? How can I keep you away from all that you hold dear?"

Nicolò slowly shook his head, "I firmly believe in the teachings of God, but I didn't enter the convent by vocation," he began. “My parents took me there when I was eight, or nine, I don't even remember, then they went away. I've never had any other choice."

“My love, I’m sorry.”

“It was a sensible choice, and not unusual for poor families with many children. I always had a hot meal, a roof over my head, and the chance to study, three great privileges that my brothers and sisters were not granted."

"Where are they now?"

Nicolò shrugged “I don't know,” he said in a flat tone. He didn't particularly like talking about his family, but in Yusuf's arms everything seemed simpler. “They left Genoa more than twenty years ago, forgot about me I guess. Back then I couldn't write and they couldn't read anyway, so I haven't heard of them since then, I don't even know if they're still alive."

"It's so unfair."

"This is how the world turns, right?" Nicolò said, not without a hint of bitterness. “Then a rich gentleman came, paid for my sword, my horse and that of others, and I left. I have been chasing a chimera, Yusuf, a fantasy, the truth is that there is nothing left for me in Genoa and if there were any answers for what we are, I don't think I'd be able to find them, neither there nor elsewhere, much less by myself."

"But it's your home."

At those words Nicolò gave Yusuf a small, chaste kiss, "you are home," he said, and for Yusuf, not for the first time, it was as if the world stopped spinning.

"I'm sorry it took a war for us to meet," Nicolò added, serious and somber.

Yusuf let out a small sigh, it was difficult to address that a topic, especially right after what they had just done, yet it was inevitable. He lowered his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts, while Nicolò, encouraged or worried by his silence, continued, "we had a deal, remember?"

“A deal?”

"You were supposed to take me to Antioch so that I could leave these lands and never come back."

Yusuf's eyes widened while he remembered his own words.

_You'll board the first available ship and you'll never come back again, or I'll give you to somebody who can surely teach you the true meaning of pain_

_You are a curse, I wish you'd never come here  
Whatever happens, you asked for it_

Now those words were like a punch in the stomach, but at least they explained why Nicolò thought he needed his permission to stay. "Nicolò, I... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.”

“No, don't. We were, well, we were different."

"I'll never hurt you again, I swear."

"But you didn't, you always keep me safe Yusuf."

Yusuf let a little bitter laugh escape his lips, "that's not true," he mumbled.

"It is, you left Hussein brand you in my place, you kept the bandits away from me at the cave, even if I was too dumb to see it, and you think I didn't notice all the times you tried to get between me and the people on the street?"

“It was the least I could do.”

Nicolò shook his head, “no, you didn't own me anything. A few months ago I was on the battlefield fighting your people in the name of a God I still believe in. I don't know if there will ever be forgiveness for me, among men or in His eyes, I'm aware of this, but I haven't forgotten who I am and I don't expect you to do it. I know that's what Hussein told you and I know that's what you're afraid of. I understand."

Yusuf was speechless, no matter how painful it was to admit it, Nicolò was not entirely wrong. Could a few months be enough to really forget where they both came from? True hate had been the only thing between them, at some point. Not so much time ago Nicolò was an enemy, an invader, a conqueror, there was no sugarcoating it.

Yusuf was taking too long to answer, however, and that was already enough for Nicolò. It'd have been nice to believe that love was enough, but he knew it didn't work like that. His heart was breaking into a thousand pieces, but he knew he deserved nothing better, and anyway the last thing he wanted was to make Yusuf feel cornered. He forced himself to smile but his voice trembled as he said, "I guess you need to think about it. We should go back anyway, Sadira will wonder what happened to us." With those words, albeit reluctantly, Nicolò finally freed himself from the other man's embrace, leaving Yusuf motionless, with his legs almost too weak to hold him, and only one certainty: he was sending very confused signals, while - former - enemy or not, Nicolò had fought against his own fears and had clearly stated what he wanted.

"There's nothing to think about, Nicolò," Yusuf said then, with a resoluteness that surprised even himself. "I made my mind already, and besides a wise man told me once that I am not in a position to judge.”

Nicolò remembered he'd told Yusuf so on the day he'd recounted him of the siege of Genoa, but he didn't even have time to open his mouth because Yusuf was now like a raging river. “Nicolò, I have no answers for you as I have no answers for me. I know it's a selfish, horrible thought, but without the war you wouldn't be here, we'd never have found each other. I can't even imagine my life without you, yet as awful as our past is, it's the future I fear. I asked myself if I could forget who you are, if I could get past our differences, but the truth is what I'm truly afraid of is what would be of me if you left me.”

Nicolò almost couldn't believe what he'd just heard. “Yusuf, you're the reason I wake up in the morning, and my last thought when I go to sleep. You're the first and only man I ever loved, I could never, ever leave you.”

“Now I know, my love, now I know. I've been a coward, I should've talked to you much sooner, but if you'll stay with me I'll never be afraid of anything again, ever. You will be the moon that lights my way even in the darkest nights."

Nicolò had to swallow his tears. Yusuf's words were painfully ironic yet true. The war was an awful, shameful thing, a disgrace especially for a man of God, yet without it right now he'd be in his small parish, living a peaceful, empty, lonely life, without ever having known Yusuf, and love, which were the same. It was a dilemma destined to remain so; it was, however, utterly outrageous that this beautiful, wonderful man had to fear to be forgotten, left behind, and considered himself a coward. But now Nicolò had a whole eternity to convince Yusuf that he was the bravest, smartest, and most charming man he'd ever met, Nicolò's one and only hero, and his constant inspiration to be a better man.

He stood there, just contemplating _his_ Yusuf's beauty for a while, tracing the line of an eyebrow with his fingertips, as if he couldn't believe he had the love of his life really there in his harms, and that they'd be together forever.

Yusuf let himself be fondled like that, basking in the touch of the man he loved more than his own life, and his heart skipped a beat when Nicolò whispered to him, in an unusually low and hoarse voice "I want to feel you inside, Yusuf."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok folks, this is the second, or maybe third to last chapter, it depends on how and if I will be able to divide the final part, which is almost all written already.  
> As usual thank you so much for sticking with me, and for your lovely kudos and comments!


	13. No more pain

Yusuf was a strong man, he'd proven himself on many occasions, and yet, when Nicolò came up with such a thing like “I want to feel you inside” for a moment Yusuf's iron will wavered dangerously. He had to take a deep breath, kiss Nicolò, who wasn't even fully aware of the effect of his own words, and take a long, slow look around the room.

He wanted Nicolò so much it hurt, but he wanted to spoil him, take him slowly in a comfortable bed and not against a rough door, and that inn's room, which had looked quite nice at first, after weeks spent outdoors, now looked just average.

"My love deserves so much better," Yusuf finally said between kisses.

Nicolò smiled, leaning his forehead on Yusuf's. "I knew it," he said, he was eager but not disappointed, and after all he wanted the best for Yusuf as well.

"You knew what?"

"Nothing” Nicolò said gently, “let's go."

Back at the Governor's huge house, everyone was asleep after the long and tiring night, except for a couple of servants and Sadira, who had prepared two separate rooms for them. Yusuf and Nicolò apologized profusely for keeping her awake longer than necessary, thanked her, then left her rest.

Alone in the corridor, in front of their rooms, there was another awkward moment, before Yusuf grabbed Nicolò by the hand and led him to his room.

It was actually a very nice room, definitely much larger, brighter and more comfortable than the one at the inn. They reached the bed with their hearts beating fast, more aroused by the moment, and they found it so soft they fell asleep like hibernating bears the moment their heads hit the pillow. The past two nights had been tiring, and that morning full of emotions.

It was mid-afternoon when Yusuf slowly returned to consciousness and became aware of an unusual circumstance. He was lying on his side, holding something in his arms. That something turned out to be someone, and Yusuf had a moment of disbelief when he realized that that someone was Nicolò, who was by the way still sleeping like a rock.

Yusuf smiled to himself, nuzzling the nape of the man so blissfully abandoned in his arms, not yet used to the idea that they now belonged to each other. He squeezed a little tighter, Nicolò barely stirred and didn't wake up, but Yusuf was now fully awake, and too happy and excited to be able to go back to sleep. He got up slowly, kissed Nicolò on the head, then whispered "I'll be right back", before silently leaving the room.

Almost an hour had passed when Yusuf came back and found Nicolò, who was just waking up, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed.

"Good afternoon, sleepyhead," Yusuf said, then sat down next to him, on the edge of the bed. Nicolò greeted him with a soft smile and took a moment to remember that they had entered that room with a certain purpose on their mind, only to fall asleep. How embarrassing. He also remembered that now he could kiss the other man freely, and so he did.

"Yusuf?" He said soon after.

“Yes?”

"What does hayati mean?"

Yusuf laughed, blushing while he remembered what they were doing, exactly, when he'd used that word. "It means that you are my life," he simply said, then, unexpectedly, he stood up, held out his hand to a still stunned Nicolò and added, "come on, I want to show you something." Nicolò, of course, went with him.

When Yusuf opened the door of the second room Sadira had given them, Nicolò found himself in the middle of one of the fairy tales the elderly priests used to read him, trying to teach him to love books when he was just a boy who fled the convent to go fishing. There were candles everywhere to create a surreal and welcoming atmosphere even if there was still light outside. The air was full of delicate scents Nicolò didn't recognize, and the bed was covered with large pillows that looked particularly soft. Next to it there was a finely carved wooden table with fruit, sweets, and wine on it.

For a few moments Nicolò stood there, unmoving. No one had ever done anything like that for him, no one had ever made him feel so important and stupidly happy. And that bed was the place where he'd soon give himself to Yusuf, and where Yusuf would become his. Suddenly everything seemed more real.

"Do you like it?" Yusuf asked hugging him from behind, and resting his chin on Nicolò's shoulder.

"This is incredible," Nicolò said, his voice raw with emotions. "I don't deserve you, Yusuf" he added seriously, interwining his fingers with those of the other man.

Yusuf kissed him on one cheek, "this isn't true" he said softly.

Then Nicolò realized something. "Wait, Sadira gave you all this?" He asked.

"Yes."

"And she's ok with it? I mean, we are her guests, her position as the Governor's right hand is not even official yet."

"She didn't ask for details, I didn't offer, but she's been very helpful."

“I see” Nicolò said cryptically, then turned around in Yusuf's embrace so that he could face him. “Yusuf” he started, but didn't go on.

Yusuf suspected that he was nervous, no longer sure. "We don't have to do anything you don't want, ever," he said, because despite what had happened that morning it was now crucial to clarify that point.

"I know,” Nicolò nodded.

“Nicolò, I want you with all my heart, but we have all the time in the world."

"I want you too," Nicolò said lowering his gaze, "you don't know how much. It’s just..."

Yusuf's face lit up with a small, sweet smile at that reassurance, but he wasn't quite sure what was going on in Nicolò's mind. Anyway that conversation was too important, he needed to understand, "hayati, what's the matter?"

Nicolò too knew how important it was to be honest and clear, so he looked up at Yusuf again, with the determination of a man who had finally taken his courage in his hands. "I wish I could make it as good for you as I know it will be for me, but I don't know how," he said at once, and before he could even get to the end of that sentence, Yusuf had him in a fierce and possessive embrace, taking Nicolò's breath away.

The Genoan closed his eyes, glad to let himself be held; it felt nice and it was reassuring, because as much as he wanted Yusuf, his inexperience was making him self conscious indeed.  
Yusuf, for his part, was astonished more than anything else. Was it possible that Nicolò worried about such a thing? That he was going to give himself to another man in a way that made many people feel too vulnerable, or even less manly, and his main concern was Yusuf's pleasure rather than his own? How could he be so incredibly kind and selfless? He kissed Nicolò's hair, then his face, and finally his mouth.

“It'll be incredible, Nicolò, it'll be perfect because it's you. Because it's us."

"But..." Nicolò tried, now he wore a small frustrated frown that Yusuf found frankly adorable.

"You know, the first time I did it I was a curious young man with some, well, exuberant friends," Yusuf said. "She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, with silky air and the eyes of a doe, and she was older than me."

“I see.”

"Later, there were a few other women, and a few other men, there was passion, there was complicity and fondness and many other nice things, but never, never in my entire life there was anything as big and powerful as what I feel for you."

"Yusuf..."

“My life was pretty lonely before I met you, Nicolò, even if I knew many people. I never had anything concrete, or real. Nothing that lasted or even that I wanted to last."

"I'm sorry," Nicolò said, and he was sincere, Yusuf was made to be loved, after all. "I know what it's like to be alone in the midst of many people. To be happy, even, and still feel incomplete."

"It doesn't matter, not anymore, not now that we're together." Yusuf stated. “You taught me what love is, and see? In a way it'll be a first time for me too."

Nicolò nodded, already more at ease, and while he wasn't really sure he could teach anyone anything, especially Yusuf, the other man still had the power to give him peace, no matter what, and Nicolò trusted him unconditionally.

“So... tonight?" Yusuf said, suddenly uncertain, he really didn't want to be pushy.

Nicolò cupped the other man's cheek and looked at him with such intensity that Yusuf felt himself flush.

"Now, Yusuf, please."

Yusuf had to close his eyes and take a deep breath "hayati, you'll be the end of me" he said and at that moment he really believed it.

Nicolò grinned at that, "I certainly hope not!"

The smile Yusuf gave him back only turned Nicolò's knees to jelly. It was warm, kind, like his gorgeous black eyes. "Come on," he said, then took Yusuf by the hand and led him to the bed.

They took off their boots and lay there for a long time, talking, kissing, exploring each other bodies with the most chaste and gentle caresses, while sipping wine and eating fruit.

"I guess all these apples are here just by chance," Nicolò stated at one point.

"Of course," Yusuf lied shamelessly; his face was serious, but his eyes sparkled with mirth as he remembered the day they had dueled for a simple apple, and the way he'd won distracting Nicolò by a simple brush on his jaw. It hadn't been a completely intentional move, but the way Nicolò had shivered at that simple touch had ignited something in Yusuf's body as well. And that fire still had to be extinguished.

Nicolò couldn't hold back a chuckle as he remembered, then attacked Yusuf with a particularly deep, passionate kiss, and a pleasant warmth spread in both their bellies. It was all amazing even like that, just being together, laughing at silly things, each of them now safe in the arms of the same man who had killed, hurt, hated them not so long before.

While the doubts that had held them both back in the past dissipated like smoke in the wind, impatience grew. Their touch became more and more daring, their kisses more passionate, and soon they both found themselves naked from the waist up. Fearing that Nicolò was nervous about what was about to happen, Yusuf let him dictate the timing. He was perfectly content to just admire the smooth ivory skin, the delicate curve of Nicolò's neck, his small, hard nipples, but lying on his back, lost in the eyes of the man he loved more than his own life, Nicolò wasn't afraid. He took Yusuf's hand and rested it on his own belly. A hot shiver went through his body then, he'd always found Yusuf's hands wonderful, so strong and elegant at the same time, and now he knew they were warm too.

“I'm ready, my love,” Nicolò said, with so much confidence that Yusuf didn't doubt for a moment it was true. Hard as marble already, thanks to those words alone, Yusuf still went slowly. He couldn't rush, Nicolò trusted him blindly, and he wanted to give him the most unforgettable experience ever. Moreover, Nicolò's body was like the most sumptuous of banquets, and Yusuf wanted to enjoy it for as long as possible.

He slipped his hand a little further down, looking for permission on Nicolò's handsome face. The Genoan nodded briefly before closing his eyes and abandoned himself to his lover. He, too, was already unbearably hard and not sure how long he could wait. When Yusuf's hand slid under his waistband to grab his erection, Nicolò choked on a muffled cry, bending his back in a perfect arc. The touch of a hand different from his own still felt new in the most wonderful way. Then Yusuf rubbed his thumb on the head of Nicolò's cock, but it felt too sensitive already, and Nicolò went dangerously close to lose control.

“Is it too much?” Yusuf asked.

Nicolò nodded.

"My love, we can stop whenever you want, you know this, don't you?"

"No!" Nicolò hastened to say, opening his eyes wide. "I don't want you to stop, it's just that..." more awkward by the minute, but sure he could tell Yusuf everything, Nicolò took a deep breath. "It's just that I want to finish while you are inside me," he said, as if finally resigned to his own lust.

It was Yusuf, that time, the one risking ending too soon. "My soul," he moaned, closing his eyes, while Nicolò's hands wandered slowly over his wide back. Then, when he met the hem of Yusuf's pants, Nicolò said "may I?"

“Of course.”

"Here," Nicolò said, switching their positions so that he could push Yusuf to lie down between the pillows. He knelt between his legs and bent down to leave a trail of small kisses on his lover's chest and stomach. Yusuf shivered with impatience, but above all with an emotion so great he feared his heart might burst into his chest. Nicolò had hardly any idea what he was doing, but he acted driven by an instinct that led him to sweetness, and Yusuf loved him more every moment.

Finally, Nicolò took off Yusuf's pants, then stilled for a few moments, contemplating the naked body of the most beautiful man he'd ever seen. With his hair down, his well-defined muscles, his erect cock, Yusuf was like a pagan God of beauty and desire, and every nice thing in the world. His swollen cock looked big to Nicolò, who had almost never seen another naked man, suitably diverting his gaze even among his fellow soldiers. The Genoan wasn't entirely sure he could take it all, but he wanted it so much he could almost feel his own lust burning his body from the inside. Besides, under such an intense gaze Yusuf felt as naked as he'd ever been and flushed as well. No one had ever looked at him like that, with so much love and longing. For some reason, to know that he wasn't the only one overwhelmed by the power of his own emotions made Nicolò feel more at ease with the whole situation.

"Meraviglioso," was all he could say, eventually.

Yusuf sat up and held him tightly, kissing his neck, then teasing Nicolò's small nipples with the tip of his tongue. He even went further down, kissing Nicolò's abdomen, but dared not go further. He lifted his face, instead, and met Nicolò's eyes. “This must be heaven,” he said, “Nicolò, you're my heaven."

Nicolò tilted his head back in a little affectionate laugh "and this must be blasphemy in every religion."

Yusuf laughed with him, "I don't know, is it blasphemy if it's true?"

"Is it really a good time for a theological dispute?"

"Definitely not," Yusuf said with a warm smile, then went to work again, undoing Nicolò's pants excruciatingly slow. Fully naked, hard, ready for him, Nicolò was truly a sight to behold. Yusuf made him lay on his back again because without needing to talk they both knew the time had come.

"Just a moment," Yusuf said, turning to retrieve a small leather bag hidden under his pillow.

"What's this?" Nicolò asked when he saw him taking a vial out from the bag.

"This will make things easier," Yusuf explained.

Nicolò took a moment to understand. "Oh," he said when he realized what the liquind in the vial was for. Yusuf took a few moments more to suck sweet kisses down Nicolò's jaw, to give him time to get used to the idea and, eventually, stop it all, but Nicolò's pulse was beating wild under Yusuf's lips, and his cock was painfully erect, the last thing in his mind was stopping. At ease under Yusuf's weight, as if intoxicated by the warmth of his magnificent body, Nicolò begged, "now, please," and Yusuf's heart missed a beat.

“Just a moment, my love,” he said opening the vial with trembling hands.

Determined to follow Yusuf's lead, Nicolò said no more and did his best to relax even while Yusuf's hand reached his little hole. Careful to catch every expression on his lover's face, Yusuf pushed an oiled finger inside and found Nicolò insanely tight. Tentatively the probing finger worked its way. The sensation was new and made Nicolò sigh loudly. He clawed at the bedsheets and tensed just a bit, so Yusuf stopped, but didn't remove his finger. "How does it feel?" He asked.

“Good... ah, weird but good” Nicolò replied with a small smile. 

Happy to know that everything was fine, Yusuf kept pushing and soon added another finger. Once again he stopped, and once again Nicolò reassured him, so Yusuf went on for a long time, opening his lover's body little by little, relieved to feel it become pliant while Nicolò moaned openly, with his back arched and his eyes closed.

"Nico...?" Yusuf finally asked when he felt Nicolò relaxed as he was going to be. The prospect of being in that wonderful warmth had made Yusuf's erection almost too painful. Nicolò nodded, and blushed all over while opening his legs further as if offering himself. Yusuf eagerly placed himself between those long, muscular legs, and guided his cock towards the small, dark bud, the most precious treasure he was about to conquer.

When the tip of Yusuf's cock brushed Nicolò's little hole, pushing slowly, once again Nicolò tensed, clenching his muscles reflexively. Was it really going to happen, then? Soon another man would be inside him, open him, claim him, but it didn't feel sinful at all, and besides it wasn't just another man, was it? It was his Yusuf and Nicolò asked for nothing more than to belong to him forever. He relaxed again and finally Yusuf could win the natural resistance of his body. Past the tight ring of muscles, his cock entered quite suddenly, and a sharp pain reverberated all along Nicolò's spine. For a moment that first penetration hurt, yet it was at the same time the most ecstatic pleasure Nicolò had ever dreamed of. His body was on fire as he felt so obscenely full that he'd to bite his lower lip to keep from screaming.

Yusuf stopped to let him get used to that sweet invasion, also he didn't want Nicolò to be ashamed of his own pleasure, he wanted him to let himself go completely. He took the time to claim the Genoan's mouth with his own, then, so that Nicolò's moan turned into a passionate kiss.   
“You feel so good, you're incredible” Yusuf moaned in turn, and when he felt that Nicolò was ready, he pushed one more time and gave him even the last, thick inches of his cock.

To have Yusuf finally buried completely inside him was a major turn on for Nicolò. It still hurt just a bit, but when Yusuf stroke his cock the pleasure became so intense it wiped away everything else. "Amore mio" Nicolò pleaded almost shyly “f...fuck me.”

A powerful wave of lust and love hit Yusuf at those words, and he willingly obeyed. He began to fuck Nicolò slowly, rolling his hips almost lazily, certain that neither of them would last long in the state they were in, but still determined to prolong that dream as much as possible. Nicolò just took it for the first few moments, he had to get used to the feeling of a cock pushing inside him, stretching his little hole beyond belief, then he tentatively went to meet Yusuf's thrusts, once again following his own instinct, squeezing Yusuf's hips between his strong legs.

"Ah... Yusuf! " Nicolò screamed, forgetting himself when Yusuf changed the angle of the penetration and brushed his prostate with the tip of his cock.

“My love, look at me,” Yusuf said. It was at the same time a plea and the sweetest order ever. When Nicolò opened his eyes, he found out that the way Yusuf was looking at him was almost more erotic than what he was doing with his cock. He clawed Yusuf's back, sinking his nails into the other man's back, as Yusuf began to fuck him deeper and harder, driving him to the point where he simply couldn't hold back anymore. Nicolò came undone, lost in the adoring gaze of his lover, and spilled on Yusuf's skilled hand with a loud groan.

Seeing Nicolò so lost in the pleasure he'd given him, brought Yusuf too to an incredibly powerful orgasm. The rhythm and speed of his thrusts were now fierce, almost frantic, and when Nicolò's inner muscles tensed gripping his cock tightly, it was suddenly too much. After a few last powerful thrusts Yusuf filled Nicolò with his warm seed, moaning his name. Finally, exhausted and spent, he slumped over his lover's body, hiding his face in Nicolò's neck.

They remained for a few moments just like that, sweating and sated, until Nicolò noticed that Yusuf was trembling.

"Tesoro mio,*" he said, stroking his lover's soft curls.

Hearing the uncertainty in his voice, and before Nicolò could get the wrong idea, Yusuf lifted his face "ya amar, my beautiful moon, I'm fine," he said in a trembling voice, as two small tears escaped the corner of his eyes. His chest felt tight, he'd never been so happy in his life. He closed his eyes while Nicolò kissed away his tears, then moved to get out of his body but Nicolò held him fast. "No, not yet, please," the Genoan said, not ready yet to see that moment end.

Perfectly content to stay where he was, once again Yusuf rested his head on Nicolò's shoulder, positively purring when he felt his lover kiss the top of his head.

Later, it was once again weird but not painful when Yusuf finally pulled out of Nicolò's body. It was a bit annoying instead, having to wipe themselves off with a soft cloth, but after that the two lovers lay on their side, face to face, abandoned and naked in the evening air of a still warm autumn. Perfectly lazy, with their heads resting on the same pillow and their fingers intertwined, they were lost into each other's eyes for a while, until Yusuf brought Nicolò's hand to his lips to leave small kisses on his knuckles.

“I'll take you home one day, I swear,” he said.

For an instant Nicolò was taken aback, then with a small, radiant smile, he answered, "I already told you, home is where you are."

Yusuf always melted inside when he heard those things, he kissed Nicolò on the forehead, but then insisted "but you miss Genoa, don't you?" He asked, because he knew very well it was true. Each soldier left with the only hope of returning home soon, and in that, he was sure, Nicolò was no exception.

Nicolò shrugged. "Sometimes," he admitted. Yes, he missed home on some level, but he knew he couldn't go back, not with Yusuf, and without him life wasn't even worth living.

"Then I'll take you there," Yusuf said knowing that 'sometimes' covered only a part of the truth.

"You know, I like your pretty curly head better when it's attached to your magnificent body," Nicolò said with a raised eyebrow. Yusuf laughed, "this is a relief, but sooner or later the war has to end, and I want to know everything about you, where you were born, where you grew up, everything."

Nicolò tucked a lock of hair behind Yusuf's ear and stroked his cheek with the knuckles of his hand. It wasn't that he couldn't relate, he too wanted to know everything about Yusuf, it'd have been so nice to know his world, his family, all the people who had made him the incredible man he was now. Sadly it wasn't meant to be.

For a long time Nicolò simply contemplated the perfection of his lover's face, the high cheekbones, the coral lips. Finally, then, he spoke. “Genoa's cliffs are tall and majestic, you know? In the summer the sun hits the pale rocks and is so bright it dazzles the view. Then suddenly the beaches turn into hills and hills into mountains, and the mountains are so high they touch the sky. The morning wind is chill, and it carries the scent of the sea even up to my parish."

"I knew it, I knew it was beautiful."

“It is.”

“Tell me more.”

“The convent where I grew up was small, plain, but I could see the sea from the orchard, and the mountains in the distance, behind the bell tower. The vault of the church was very high, the highest I have ever seen. There was a large round window of stone carved so finely it looked like lace, and you should see the stained glasses, Yusuf! When the sun was high they drew a thousand colors on the walls, it was like a dream. On Sundays the bells ringed, and children played to chase each other after Holy Mass driving their mothers crazy."

Yusuf felt his throat constrict, he'd come to truly hate what Nicolò was talking about, but his voice, his words, the light in his eyes made it seem so beautiful that Yusuf felt nostalgic for a place he'd never even seen.

“I've made many mistakes in my life, Nicolò,” he said, “but what hurts me the most is that I wanted to believe you were a cruel man, even after we started our journey together. It made it easier to avoid facing my doubts. For a while I thought hate was making me feel better, instead it was destroying me, I was turning into someone I didn't want to be."

"Hush, my love. Same goes for me, you know that, but we're not those men anymore, aren't we?"

Yusuf scoffed a bittersweet laugh, "no, we're not." There was so much they had to let go, so much they had to accept and it'd take some time, but now was not the time to talk about it, he didn't want to ruin that unforgettable evening.

Nicolò, however had an intense light in his eyes when he said "Yusuf, you made me a better person and I'll never be able to repay you."

The surprise in Yusuf's dark's eyes was evident. “Repay me?” He asked. “No, my soul, you reminded me what I shouldn't have forgotten in the first place, that I should always follow my heart."

Nicolò no longer knew what to say on that subject that he hadn't already said, and he wasn't particularly good with words to begin with. Maybe just try to move on was the only sensible thing left to do. Often, it was Yusuf the one who played down the moment, but this time it was Nicolò's turn. "You know, you are unusually rational for an Infidel," he said trying to hold back a smile. It was to no avail, though, because Yusuf caught the irony in his voice and took the hint. "I'm considered a very wise man among my people, you know?"

Nicolò nodded solemnly, "you should wear a white toga, like that of the great Aristotle, it'd suit you."

“You think?”

"Definitely. Too bad your beard will never turn white, it'd suit you too."

"Insolent Frank, I'll give you something to laugh at," Yusuf said before attacking Nicolò's neck with small, ticklish bites.

"I give up! I give up!" Nicolò shouted after a while, out of breath from laughing.

Lying on top of him, Yusuf graciously granted Nicolò a respite while pinning his hands on the pillow “so, will you do whatever I want?"

“If you ask nicely.”

"But you belong to me, huh?"

Nicolò felt hot all of sudde, the very idea of belonging to Yusuf was turning him on once again, “I belong to you and only you. But only if you belong to me."

A wave of heat invaded Yusuf's belly, not only for those words, but because Nicolò was soft and yielding under him and even indulged Yusuf raising his hands above his head in surrender.

"Of course, my love, of course I'm yours” Yusuf said in a husky voice.

They kissed deeply, languidly, until Yusuf spoke again. “Does this mean I can have you as often as I want?"

Nicolò chuckled, “you can.”

"In any way I want?"

"Please, yes."

"And I'll have you beg for more?"

This time Nicolò blushed deliciously. “Possibly,” he conceded.

“And I can...”

"Now, don't you think that's too much to ask?"

Again they laughed together, holding each other tightly, happy and carefree, and for that day there was no more pain in the world. 

*My treasure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the end, sort of. There's an epilogue coming, and then it'll be truly over.  
> I'm a bit emotional right now ;__;


	14. Epilogue

Leaving Sadira's beautiful house was not easy for Yusuf and Nicolò. They'd been happy, there, at the dawn of their new life together, amidst friendly, accepting people. It was even more difficult to leave Amal and her little brothers without even promising them they'd be back someday. Precisely for this reason the two men knew they had made the right choice, it was time to go, they'd stayed only a month, and it hurt enough already.

That was also a kind of wake-up call that reminded them that immortality had its price, and it wasn't cheap: never again getting to truly know other people, never again staying in one place too long, or taking root, never again making friends or having a family apart from each other. Yet _each other_ was nice, was good, was everything they could possibly dream of, and much more. It was what made the loss of everything else tolerable.

As painful as it was for Nicolò and Yusuf to leave their new friends behind forever, it was also nice to be alone once again, to see the world, and travel through desert lands where they could freely show their affection. Simply holding hands whenever they felt like it was a provilege, so was being loud while making love. 

And love was something that was never missing. There was always so much of it, in the smallest things as in great gestures; physically, it happened by day, under the shade of a large tree, or by night, under a starry sky. Sometimes Nicolò lay on his back, while Yusuf took him slowly and gently. Other times he was on his knees, with his forehead resting on his folded arms, wile Yusuf fucked him hard enough to make him forget his name.

Yusuf loved napping curled up by Nicolò's side, soon after, with his head pillowed on the chest of his lover who enjoyed playing idly with his curly hair, and think.

In those moments Nicolò often thought about the man he once used to be, and about the vows he was breaking, or maybe not, since he was no longer a priest. Not that he'd ever made an official statement, but he knew in his heart that he'd still worship God, only in a less _official_ way. And maybe the comfort came from God himself, or maybe from Nicolò's own calm and rational mind, but when he looked down at the face of the man who slept so blissfully in his arms, Nicolò felt no shame, regret, or guilt, only endless love, and the desire to hold that man tight and protect him, even though he knew that Yusuf didn't need protection at all. Inevitably a small smile appeared on Nicolò's lips, whenever he reached that conclusion, and he closed his eyes thanking God again and again for giving him, of all people, such a gift.

It took a while, however, for Nicolò to feel comfortable with sex, and self-confident enough, to ask Yusuf if sometime, maybe, he wanted to try to switch positions.

The enthusiasm with which Yusuf accepted that request reassured Nicolò further. It all happened quite naturally, one night by the fire. There were no feather pillows and delicacies that time, but the moon was full and bright above them, and the air was filled with the delicate scents of an early spring. Distractedly, Nicolò thought that it'd soon be one year since the first time he had met Yusuf. That day they'd killer each other and it wasn't a good memory, so he decided not to dwell on it. And how could he even think straight, when Yusuf was naked and beautiful beneath him, and looked at Nicolò as if he was the vision of a dream?  
Nicolò kissed him greedily, but much more gently entered him, and loved him for a long time, until Yusuf came scratching Nicolò's back and screaming his name.

Some time later, however, as nice and fascinating as it was to travel together, without haste and without a precise destination, they thought that perhaps they could stop somewhere for a while, so at least they could live off their work instead of plundering those who were unwary enough to try and plunder them.

Killing was still not a thing Nicolò or Yusuf liked doing, and never would have been.

Eventually, and mostly by chance, they stopped in a town on the southern shore of the Caspian Sea. There was everything they could want, there: a port large enough so that they could buy anything and easily find a job, long golden sand beaches for Nicolò, who loved to swim and make love at sunset by the sea, a large and very crowded market where Yusuf could sell his drawings whenever he wanted, excited as a child at the idea of being able to live, even if only for a while, of his art.

They lived in a small house in a secluded corner of the town, where Nicolò had recently discovered how nice it was to watch Yusuf draw or paint. Yusuf was so attentive, so focused, until he felt the other man's insistent gaze on himself, looked up briefly, and threw Nicolò a small ball of paper or some chalk, or something equally harmless.

Nicolò usually got up, at that point, went behind Yusuf to peek at his drawings, ruffled his hair a bit, and left him to his business with a small kiss.

One day, after getting yet another small paper ball on his head (Yusuf was a pretty good shot, by the way), Nicolò went to him, but stopped before getting to kiss him when he saw the drawing Yusuf was working on. It represented Nicolò himself, lying on his side on the bed, reading a book with his head resting on the palm of his hand, just as he had been doing until a few seconds before. Only in Yusuf's drawing he was completely naked.

"What do you think?" Yusuf asked seeing his lover's cheeks turn pink. Nicolò was much more relaxed than before, but he had not completely abandoned his reticence, and Yusuf was simply crazy about it.

"Great memory for details," Nicolò replied. As always he was honestly impressed by Yusuf's incredible skills.

"I got to study those details thoroughly," Yusuf said with a sparkle in his eye.

Nicolò nodded, that was undoubtedly true. “Thoroughly,” he said, trying and failing to hold back a smile.

Yusuf pretended to study the drawing carefully. "Well, I have to admit this one came out really good,” he concluded after a while, “who knows how much I can sell it on the market."

Nicolò sat astride his legs, "tesoro, don't be an asshole."

Yusuf burst out laughing as he kissed him, then said, "would you like to see the others?"

"There are more?"

"Yes, does it bother you?"

“No.”

"I should have asked you, Nicolò. I'm sorry."

Nicolò hugged him and kissed him again "I don't mind, but I'd really like to see them."

"Alright, let's go," Yusuf said. Nicolò reluctantly got up from his lap, but a few minutes later they were both on the bed, with their backs resting on the wall, leafing through some sheets inside a leather folder. Nicolò's heart was beating strongly with emotion. He was dressed in almost all of those drawings, and still there was something incredibly erotic in knowing that Yusuf could capture his every gesture, his every look, and turn them in something beautiful.

"Truly talented, as I've said before" Nicolò said, overwhelmed.

"Ah, before," Yusuf said, got up to take an old notebook from the bottom of a drawer, then went back to bed. Nicolò remembered that object well even though it had been a long time since he had last seen it around.

It was the notebook Yusuf used to carry in his saddlebag at the beginning of their journey, the one he'd stumbled upon while entering a cave. Nicolò clearly remembered the moment he'd leafed through those pages without Yusuf's permission, guilty as a kid stealing cookies, and equally thrilled.

That night many things had happened, and they'd never talked about it again.

"You are silent," Yusuf said after a while.

"You too," Nicolò answered.

Yusuf sighed while going through the notebook, it was a bitter-sweet memory of one of the most confusing periods of his life. He could still remember all the doubts, the anger, the fear, and he could also remember how he simply couldn't stop drawing Nicolò, as if he wanted to capture him on paper, fearing it'd eventually be the only way to keep him close.

"Do you remember?" Yusuf asked when he came to a page in which Nicolò was represented entering a river. In that picture, too, he was naked, and even there every detail of his anatomy was practically perfect, but there was much more in that drawing, even if Nicolò couldn't exactly point his finger on it.

He remembered that day, anyway, pretty well. He had burned his coat, he had decided to leave the past behind and build a new future, still too scared to admit he wanted Yusuf to be part of it. In the end, however, he had won his bet.

"My love, are you alright?" Yusuf asked, seeing him a little too pensive even by his tandards.

Nicolò only nodded, and involuntary got the other man worried. "Ya amar, what is it?" Yusuf asked.

Nicolò cupped his cheeck and smiled, “I'm happy, Yusuf” he said. "You make me happy, always."

As it was often the case when he was with Nicolò, Yusuf was left breathless. Nicolò made him happy too, every single day, with every beat of his heart, so much that sometimes Yusuf wondered if this was even normal. Then again, they were immortal, normality was evidently not meant for them.

He put the drawings away and slowly rolled over to lie on Nicolò, who welcomed him in his arms with a distinct moan of pleasure, eager as always to give himself to the man he loved.

Yet another spring had to come and go before the two men felt restless enough to set out again. The winter had been nice, mild during the day and cold at night, but sleeping hugged under the covers had proven to be the perfect remedy. However, they couldn't and wouldn't create bonds, but there was also something else. The dreams they both had since they first met had become more frequent. They weren't particularly scary or creepy dreams, but Yusuf and Nicolò always saw the same two women, and they could not ignore the fact anymore. Yusuf made two very accurate portraits of those women, one morning, and showed it to Nicolò. When they noticed that their clothes and their weapons didn't resemble anything they had seen in Europe or the Maghreb, they concluded that the women had to be somewhere in the far east. They also realized that until then, instinctively, they had actually traveled in that same direction.

Logic, curiosity and instinct kept on pushing Yusuf and Nicolò east, but it was a very large world, especially to travel on horseback, so it took three more years before the sharp blade of an unusually shaped axe landed a few inches from Nicolò's face, early one morning while he slept on the ground next to a dying fire. The Genoan woke up with a start, waking up Yusuf as well, who slept as usually spooning Nicolò.

Both men instinctively grabbed a dagger, but didn't attack.

Behind the woman who wielded the strange axe there was another one who saluted them with an odd smile. "It's quite easy to surprise you in your sleep, little brothers, this isn't good," she said, but not unkindly.

Yusuf did nothing, absolutely, to stop himself from eye rolling quite blatantly, but squeezed Nicolò's side lightly to encourage him not to rise to the bait, albeit it was unnecessary, Nicolò wasn't that kind of person.

Meanwhile, the woman with the axe stood up. "Do you have some tea at least?" She said, unceremoniously rummaging through Nicolò and Yusuf's supplies. It took only a few instants for her to feel the cold tip of Nicolò's dagger brushing her neck. "Yes" the Genoan merely answered under Yusuf's amused and quite proud gaze.

The sun had almost completely risen and there was enough light for him to see the two foreigners' faces. In fact, Yusuf would have recognized them instinctively, even without being able to look at them so clearly. It was the same for Nicolò too. They were both curious and intrigued to finally meet them, but it was good to make a few things clear right away.

The woman with the axe, however, didn't seem offended, on the contrary, still crouched to the ground she looked up at Nicolò's, then at her partner. "I think we'll get along," she said with a small crooked smile, finally giving up on the tea.

"Who are you?" Yusuf asked, then moved next to Nicolò. He was almost certain that those two women, despite their not very kind manners, didn't mean any harm, but he still wasn't willing to trust them just like that.

For the women, however, it quickly became clear that Yusuf wasn't just asking their names. They exchanged a meaningful glance, then got closer to each other as well, they were a team after all, just like Nicolò and Yusuf, but they didn't raise their weapons and there was no trace of hostility in them.

"We are like you," the woman with the almond shaped eyes said simply. The other one nodded briefly. There was something in their eyes, that resembled hope somehow. Hope for what, exactly, Yusuf and Nicolò didn't know yet.

They looked at each other, not even that surprised, yet for a moment it was almost like a dream come true, to have someone from whom, perhaps, to get some answers, to know that they were not alone, after all. Was their wandering over? Would they have a purpose again? They had so many questions for those women, there were so many things to discuss and tea was actually a good idea, so it was sitting down. After a first moment of confusion Nicolò and Yusuf exchanged a smile so tiny it was visible only for the two of them, then Yusuf took Nicolò hand, because he felt like it, because he needed to, and because he could. Even more beautiful with the golden rays of the new sun shining on their faces, the women smiled, and Yusuf and Nicolò felt lighter.

For the first time in years it was as if the four of them had all got rid of a burden they'd forgotten they were even carrying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it, then. The end. I feel nostalgic and accomplished at the same time. I had so much fun and I'll miss writing this fic, but I plan to stay in the fandom and keep on writing, so...
> 
> Anyway, I want to thank every single one of you for reading, commenting and leaving kudos, you truly made me insanely happy in this difficult times and made me want to write more and better. Hopefully I answered every comment, if not I'm not ignoring you on purpose, it's just that sometimes I don't see the notification in my e-mail.
> 
> I also never mentioned I'm on Tumblr --> https://mad--raccoon.tumblr.com/ this is a side blog, as soon as I stop being lazy I'll start a brand new one for our two lovely boys :)
> 
> Happy Halloween if you celebrate it and be safe wherever you are ♥

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and thank you very much for coming this far!
> 
> It should be obvious, but I still want to clarify that no racist prejudice reflects my thoughts. It's just that these bad boys need some more time to get to know each other better ;)


End file.
